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PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 















Patricia was on her feet now, an angry flush staining her 

CHEEKS .—Page 103. 





















PATRICIA FROM 
^ NEW YORK 

By 

MARGUERITE MURPHY 

Illustrated by 

ELIZABETH WITHINGTON 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 











4 



Copyright^ 1926, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 
All rights reserved 
Patricia From New York 


Printed in U. S. A. 

^ortooob 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 

Norwood, Mass. 


SEP 14 1925 

©CU8C1786 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Now! Now!. 9 

II Joyce ..23 

III Patricia.42 

IV Patricia and Joyce.64 

V Patricia and Irma.91 

VI School! .116 

VII The Hallowe'en Party.134 

VIII Patricia Makes A Decision.150 

IX The Class Play. 167 

X The Big Game. 191 

XI Christmas. .214 

XII Patricia Learns to Ski.233 

XIII The Sleigh-Ride Party .251 

XIV The Fairy Clock .277 

XV Fire .295 

XVI “Until We Meet Again" .309 


5 
























ILLUSTRATIONS 


Patricia was on her feet now, an angry 
flush staining her cheeks (Page 103) 

Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“Be ye a boy or a girl?”.78 

The more she leaned forward, the worse 
it seemed.246 

“We need a good strong dray-horse to 

carry out the dishes,” said Joyce . 264 


7 






PATRICIA 
FROM NEW YORK 

CHAPTER I 

now! now! 

“Now! Now!” 

Grandfather Parsons raised his spectacles 
up on his forehead, and gazed straight before 
him. 

Grandma Parsons stopped in the midst of 
a busy morning’s work, dust-cloth hanging 
limply from her hand. She gazed at Grand¬ 
father Parsons. Something certainly had dis¬ 
turbed him to produce that “Now! Now!” 
Had it been only ordinary news, or even inter¬ 
esting news, he surely would have said, “Well! 
Well! ” When he said, “ Now! Now,” that 
was a bird of another color, as Grandma Par¬ 
sons well knew. 

“ What is it? ” she asked. 

Grandfather Parsons turned a mild blue 
gaze in her direction. 

“ This is a letter from Molly—” he began 
and paused. 


9 


10 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

‘‘ Go on,” said Grandma crisply. Grand¬ 
father Parsons could be exasperating. “ Tar¬ 
nation slow,” as he expressed it himself. 

“Did you know it was from her?” he 
stopped now to ask. 

“ Well, we don’t hear from more than a 
hundred people in New York.” 

Grandma was almost more than crisp this 
time. She was fearful of what that news 
might be, but since she boasted that she 
“ never worried,” she dare not express that 
anxiety. 

“ That’s so. That’s so.” Grandfather then 
paused, as though he had come to a full and 
complete stop. 

“ Well, now that we’ve got it settled that 
the letter is from Molly, what does it say? ” 

“ Oh,” Grandfather awoke from a reverie. 
“ She says,—” he pulled down his glasses, 
and began to read from the page before him: 

“ ‘ Harvey and I have finally completed our 
plans for our trip around the world. You 
know we’ve been talking of it off and on for 
ages, five years at least, I guess, but some¬ 
thing has always turned up to interfere. I’m 
glad now that it has, for the most wonderful 


NOW! NOW! 


11 


opportunity has just presented itself. How¬ 
ever, there is one drawback. I will come to 
that later.’ ” 

Grandma, with a resigned sigh, seated her¬ 
self on the leather couch. Whatever it was 
that Grandfather Parsons had to impart, he 
would tell it in his own way, and it was be¬ 
yond her power to hurry him, even in the 
slightest degree. She folded her hands in 
resignation, and settled to await the coming of 
the important part of the letter, for it must 
be more than this coming trip of Molly’s to 
bring forth that “ Now! Now! ” They had 
known of that trip of their daughter and her 
husband for months. 

Grandfather read slowly on. 

‘‘ ‘ As I said, I’m glad now that we didn’t go 
last year, or the year before, or even the year 
before that—’ ” 

“ How like her father Molly is,” reflected 
Grandma Parsons. 

“ ‘—for one of Harvey’s friends has char¬ 
tered a steamship. Imagine! Not just a 
yacht, but a large boat, with accommodations 
for over a thousand people, and he has invited 
about four hundred persons to make up a 


12 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


party and sail the seas with him;—of course, 
sharing the expense. There will be an abund¬ 
ance of servants, besides the regular crew that 
runs the vessel. And we have been fortunate 
enough to be included. Needless to say, some 
very charming people will be there. You can 
see what a wonderful opportunity it is—’ ” 

Grandma sighed patiently, but Grand¬ 
father continued serenely, never missing a 
word. 


“ ‘—to see the Orient. We leave San Fran¬ 
cisco in less than a month. From there we 
go to Hawaii; all through the South Seas; on 
to Japan, and perhaps China—oh, I don’t 
know the route, but it will be a glorious trip. 
I haven’t been so thrilled since I was married, 
and that was eighteen years ago—^think of 
it!’” 


Grandfather showed signs of pausing, and 
Grandma coughed lustily. 

‘ However, there is a drawback—’ ” 

“ At last,” said Grandma emphatically. 

‘ Patricia.’ ” 

“ Oh,” said Grandma, and though she did 
not realize it, her tone reflected perfectly 
Grandfather’s “ Now! Now! ” 


NOW! NOW! 


13 


Presently Grandfather began to read 
again: 

‘‘ ‘ You see, this invitation does not include 
her, and, at any rate, we would not wish her 
to miss school for so long. As to leaving her 
behind with the servants, that is out of the 
question. She is spoiled enough now. And 
so. Mother and Father dearest, I am asking 
you to take her for one year. So that I may 
have this wonderful, wonderful trip. You 
know you haven’t seen her for five years. 

“ ‘ She is a spoiled child. Harvey never 
would deny her a thing. Being our only one 
has been hard on her in a way, and I admit 
that I never was as good a disciplinarian as 
you two. So for that very reason I think a 
year out there in Westcott with you two would 
be a spendid thing for her. There are many 
things I want her to learn, which she never 
will acquire in the fashionable girls’ school 
which she is now attending. For although, 
as you know, Harvey is a man of great wealth 
and standing here in New York, for my part, 
I have never forgotten the sterling qualities 
which you two planted in me in my youth. 
That my daughter may be lacking in some 
of these same qualities, I account my fault. 
And I want her to have them. Moreover, I 
feel that if she gets them anywhere, it will 
be with you. So, for her sake, as well as my 


14 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

own, won’t you invite Patricia to spend the 
year, or at least the winter, with you? 

“ ‘ Dearest love to both of you—and wire me 
your decision, for the Orient sails from San 
Francisco on the twenty-seventh of this month 
—and there is much to be done. 

‘‘ ‘ Lovingly, 

^ Molly.’ ” 

After Grandfather’s voice ceased, there was 
a long silence. Finally Grandma sighed. 

“ Spare the rod, and spoil the child,” she 
said grimly. 

Then, after another silence. Grandfather 
chuckled. 

“ Do you remember the time she tried to 
ride the brindle cow and—” 

“ And trampled down the Curtins’ gar¬ 
den? ” completed Grandma. “Well, any¬ 
way, we haven’t the cow any longer—” 

“ And the Curtins are gone,” sighed Grand¬ 
father. 

Grandfather and Grandma Parsons had 
this habit of persons long associated—the 
finishing of one another’s speeches. 

“ Molly was never like that.” 




NOW! NOW! 


16 


‘‘ Molly was of a different age and genera¬ 
tion.” 

“ And training,” supplemented Grandma. 

“ What happy days those were! ” Grand¬ 
father’s blue eyes grew milder, as he seemed to 
see the long room before them filled with child¬ 
ren, their youthful voices ringing in his ears. 

His reverie was interrupted. 

‘‘ Thank goodness, she only stayed two 
weeks.” 

“ But this time—” 

“—is for a whole year! ” 

Again a long silence. Grandma sat sud¬ 
denly erect. 

“ But she must be a young lady—now.” 

“ Eleven then—five years ago.” 

“ Eleven and five—^just sixteen—O dear! ” 

‘‘ The sweetest age of all! ” 

‘‘ I wonder,” commented Grandma. 

“ We don’t have to take her.” 

‘‘ No, we don’t have to.” 

Their discussion was interrupted by the 
slam of the porch door, a wild dash of racing 
feet, and into the room burst a young girl. 

“ Well, here’s the cyclone,” said Grand- 


16 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


father Parsons, with a smile. Grandma 
smiled, too. 

“ Hello, everybody! ” The voice was fresh 
and jubilant, expressing a gay spirit. So did 
the face, shining with the joy of living; but 
the girl’s hair was untidy and her dress 
shabby. 

“ Why, Joyce, I thought school began to¬ 
day.” 

“ So it did.” 

Then why aren’t you there? ” 

“ I was; but they just made sure we were 
all registered, told us a couple of books to get, 
and shooed us home again. And I decided 
not to go home,”—she paused, with an impish 
smile,—“ because it’s Irma’s turn to do dishes 
—and if I show up, why, I’ll have to help.” 

“Joyce!” protested Grandma, half laugh¬ 
ing. 

“ But it’s her turn! ” 

“ How does it feel to be a Junior? ” Grand¬ 
father interrupted hastily, before Joyce and 
Grandma Parsons could get into a discussion. 

“ Oh, I hardly know yet. I know I hate 
school—^this glorious weather, anyway. 


NOW! NOW! 


17 


What’s the matter. Grandma Parsons? ” 

For Grandma had assumed a worried look. 
She turned to Grandfather. 

‘‘ I suppose she’ll have to go to school here.’^ 

“ Of course. Why not? ” 

“ Who? ” asked Joyce, unaware that this 
question on her part might have been con¬ 
sidered rude. 

“ We’re expecting—^that is—she wants to 
come—or rather—” Grandfather Parsons 
floundered. 

“ Patricia is coming to spend the winter with 
us.” 

“ Patricia, your granddaughter? ” Joyce 
sat erect from where she had curled on the 
old leather couch. Goody! Goody! Goody! ” 

‘‘ You never met her, did you? ” Grand¬ 
ma’s voice was not so jubilant. 

“ No; Curtins lived in our house then.” 

The truth of the statement was that Joyce 
Hunter and her family occupied the house 
still owned by the Curtin heirs; a house large 
and rambling, rapidly taking on a neglected 
appearance, which same might very much 
describe the Hunter family. Also, a little 



18 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


repair, and either might have been made most 
presentable. Even as it was, they both had 
their good points. 

“ Tell me about her,” begged Joyce. 

Grandma shook her head. 

“ I haven’t seen her myself for five years. 
And, anyhow, I think you’d best form your 
own opinion.” 

“ But whatever happens,” said Grand¬ 
father, “remember we musn’t lose our Joy.” 

“You couldn’t, you dear old things. And 
I know I’m going to love Patty. I must rim 
and tell the family.” 

“ That’s the first thing you Hunters always 
think of, isn’t it? ” 

“ Of course,” Joy paused halfway to the 
door. “ Isn’t a family the best person on 
earth? Must tell them everything.” 

And she was gone. 

Grandma looked over at Grandfather. 

“ Which reminds me,” she remarked, “ I 
believe Molly asked us to telegraph.” 

“ Of course, of course.” Grandfather got 
to his feet, none too hurriedly. 

“ Better wear your overcoat.” 


NOW! NOW! 


19 


But it’s warm for September.” 

“ All right, but if you catch cold, don’t 
blame me.” 

With a sigh Grandfather put on a light 
overcoat, though he knew he would be unduly 
warm. 

‘‘ What shall I say? ” 

He paused in the archway for a look at the 
large, peaceful, comfortable room, so home¬ 
like in the September morning sunlight. 

“ Just say that we want—” Grandma 
paused on the word, then continued resolutely 
—“ Patricia for the year.” 

With a sigh she rescued the dust-cloth from 
the table, but cleaning had lost its zest. She 
stood in the recessed windows, watching 
Grandfather moving briskly down the street. 

This thought of Patricia’s coming brought 
many a memory to Grandma Parsons, some 
sad, some glad, many tender. 

She recalled her own daughter. Mary, she 
had been christened. What a tiny baby she 
was then, in a long, elaborate, lace-edged, and 
hand-embroidered gown. That dress would 
be considered foolish, and even unsanitary. 


20 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

now; but Grandma had it carefully tucked 
away in a chest in the attic; a dress covered 
with many fine, loving stitches—stitches which 
had taken hours of a busy woman’s time. 

There had been another, a little boy, but 
he had died. 

Grandma turned from that memory to the 
recollection of Molly romping through the 
house. 

“ What a little mischief she was! ” 

Then came the picture of Molly, sweet and 
dewy-eyed,—Molly about to be married. One 
short trip to the seashore on a visit to a school 
friend, and Molly of all people, the tomboy, 
the tease, had fallen in love with, and become 
engaged to, a man older than herself, but, 
fortunately, not too old,—just a balance- 
wheel for her harum-scarum ways. 

Mother and Father Parsons had shaken 
their heads in dismay. Was it wise? Was 
he the right man? Would Molly be happy in 
the city? Surely society there would bore 
her. Would she be happy? Mostly that, 
would she be happy? 


NOW! NOW! 


21 


But all their forebodings had proved fool¬ 
ish. Molly, winsome and happy-go-lucky as 
a girl, had settled into a charming matron, an 
attractive hostess, an adored wife, and an 
adorable mother—but not a strict one. 

And now, here was Molly’s child, a girl— 
a young woman. 

Undoubtedly she had been a spoiled child, 
having much of her mother’s wilfulness, with¬ 
out any of her sweetness; at least, the wilful¬ 
ness and stubborness had choked out the 
sweetness. 

Grandma Parsons shook her head. 

“ She is Molly’s child. There must be a 
foundation there.” 

The spoiled idol of her father, himself a 
splendid man, but one who seemed destined 
to spoil the women of his own household, from 
her infancy Patricia had had everything she 
wanted or even thought she wished. 

‘‘ Spoiled! And coming here. Poor Joyce! ” 

Grandfather Parsons, coming back from 
his mission, found his wife still in the recessed 
windows, gazing into the September sunlight, 
dreaming. 


22 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ Well, it’s done,” he greeted her, with a 
smile. “ Wonder how soon she’ll be here.” 

“ Oh, my goodness! ” Grandma woke with 
a start. “ Well, I suppose I must clean and 
fix up Molly’s room at once.” 

“ She can’t get here for a couple of days,” 
teased Grandfather. “ And probably won’t 
come for a month, when her father and mother 
go West.” 

“ Anyhow, I must get that room ready.” 

Grandfather Parsons said no more, dimly 
realizing that Grandma must have an outlet 
for the doubts and fears that were filling her 
mind and heart. 


CHAPTER II 


JOYCE 

Joyce, her straight, bobbed hair flying, had 
flung herself in at the kitchen of her own 
home. 

“ Listen, everybody, listen! I have just 
heard—” she paused abruptly. Stooping 
over a low sink at one side of the room, a 
middle-aged woman was washing dishes. 

“ Where’s Irma? ” asked Joyce. 

Her mother looked up from her task. 

“ She didn’t feel well. I told her to go up¬ 
stairs and lie down. She has a—a headache, 
I guess.” 

Mrs. Hunter paused a little on the word, 
for Irma’s headaches were proverbial, fre¬ 
quent,—and always convenient. 

“Oh!” Joyce stamped her foot. Then 
her mood changed suddenly. “ Here, I’ll do 
these.” 

“If you would,” said her mother. “ There 
are so many things waiting to be done. 
Bobbie’s coat is torn, and—” 


23 


24 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

‘‘ Yes, I know,” said Joyce. “ Go on.” 

‘‘ Do be careful, Joyce.” 

“Oh, I won’t break any,” said Joyce, 
dumping into the dish-pan a whole pyramid 
of dirty plates. 

Mrs. Hunter gasped and moved away. It 
was always a marvel to her that Joyce broke 
so few dishes as she did. 

Left alone in the kitchen, Joyce whistled 
gayly as she bent over the dishes. But after 
a little the whistling stopped; a few minutes 
more, and Joyce straightened with a groan. 

“ I don’t see why plumbers make sinks so 
low. It’s harder on the back than a dozen 
games of tennis.” 

Then, as she bent again to her task, “ Poor 
mother.” And again, “ Darn Irma! ” This 
last with much feeling. 

Finally the dishes were washed, indiffer¬ 
ently dried, and stacked away. A dab at the 
table, stove, and sink, the dish-pan hung up, 
the dish-cloth stretched across it, and Joyce 
waltzed across the room with the broom. She 
whisked at corners here and there, hurriedly 
brushed the resulting heap of crumbs and 


JOYCE 


25 


dust out through the rear door, and con¬ 
sidered the kitchen swept! Joyce knew how 
things should be done, but she never had the 
time to do them right. 

Standing now, just outside the kitchen 
door, she leaned on the broom, and gazed into 
the blue vault of sky above her. The air was 
soft and mellow; the sky brilliant, cobalt blue. 
Touches of fiery red and golden yellow were 
beginning to show among the luxuriant greens 
of the trees. 

‘‘ What a day,” breathed Joyce. “ What a 
wonderful, wonderful day. Whoever was 
fiendish enough to think of starting school in 
the fall? ” 

Suddenly she whistled, high and clear. No 
response! Again she tried it. 

“O dear!” she said. ‘'I suppose he fol¬ 
lowed Timmie to school—or Bobbie.” Then 
she grinned to herself. I wonder how Bob¬ 
bie will get along in school. His poor 
teacher! ” 

She caught sight of the Parsons’ house, with 
its neat lawn and its well-kept flower-beds. 
The Hunters’ yard, imkempt, overgrown. 


26 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


weedy, lacking flowers entirely, save the piti¬ 
ful few that Timmie had planted, was a de¬ 
cided contrast. But Joyce did not notice. 
The Parsons’ house recalled her bit of news. 

“There! I forgot.” 

She dashed again into the kitchen, slamming 
the screen-door, flung the broom against a 
near-by chair, and rushed up the back stairs, 
shouting. 

“Mother! Irma! Listen! I was just over 
to the Parsons’, and I heard—” 

In the dimness of the upper hall she was 
confronted by Irma, tall, slim, really very 
pretty, a white towel in her hand. 

“ Gracious! Be quiet, can’t you, Joycie? ” 

Joyce stopped abruptly. 

“ How’s the head? ” 

“ 'Not very good,” replied Irma in a plain¬ 
tive voice. 

“ Where’s Mother? ” asked Joyce. 

“ In the kitchen, I guess.” 

“ No, she isn’t. I did the dishes.” 

“ Oh, that was nice of you, Joycie! ” 

“ Don’t call me Joycie,” snapped her sister. 
“ It’s your turn to-morrow, remember.” 


JOYCE 


27 


All right,” said Irma, turning languidly 
back to her bedroom. “ Guess Ill lie down 
again.” 

• “ Patricia’s coming,” exploded Joyce, no 
longer able to contain this important bit of 
news. 

“Who?” Irma stopped with her back 
toward Joyce. 

“ Patricia. Patricia—Parsons. No, it 
won’t be that, either. I don’t know her last 
name. The Parsons’ granddaughter.” 

“ From New York? ” There was an eager 
note in Irma’s voice. 

“ Yes—^that’s the one—^the only one they 
have, I guess.” 

“ I think her name is Strickland.” 

“ That’s it. How’d you know? ” 

“ I’ve heard them speak of her. When is 
she coming? ” 

“ I don’t know. This month, I guess.” 

Joyce was surprised. It was seldom Irma 
took notice of anything which interested 
Joyce. 

“ She’s my age, you know,—^not yours, 
Irma.” 


28 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


‘‘ I suppose so. Do be quiet. That’s a 
good girl.” 

Irma entered her bedroom and softly closed 
the door. 

‘‘Oh!” Joyce stamped her foot. She 
hated being called “ a good girl,” as though 
she were about five,—Irma could be so aggra¬ 
vating,—but she proceeded quietly down the 
hall, nevertheless, in search of her mother. 

Mrs. Hunter was mending a bad tear in 
Bobbie’s coat. She looked up with a worried 
frown between her eyes when Joyce appeared. 

“ Bobbie will have us all in the poorhouse 
yet. He is the worst child.” 

Joyce smiled indulgently. She knew how 
her mother adored Bobbie, the youngest, who 
really had reached the mature age of seven, 
though in his mother’s eyes he was almost a 
babe in arms. With a teasing note, she said, 
“ He certainly is the worst kid in town.” 

Her mother looked up quickly. 

“ Why, Joyce Hunter, he is no such thing! 
You know very well—” Then, catching 
Joyce’s crooked smile, she laughed, too, a 
rather weary little laugh. “ Teasing again? ” 


JOYCE 


29 


“ Oh, Mummy, I can’t help it! You always 
fall so easy—especially if it’s about the boys.” 
Then a sudden thought struck Joyce. ‘‘ I 
wonder how they’ll like her? ” 

‘‘Her? Who?” 

“ Oh, didn’t I tell you? I thought I did. 
Patricia is coming. Patricia Strickland. 
Pretty name. Heaps prettier than mine.” 

“ Who is Patricia Strickland? And where 
is she coming? ” 

Eagerly Joyce told her mother all she knew. 

Mrs. Hunter nodded slowly. 

“ They are very rich, the Stricklands, aren’t 
they? ” 

“ I guess so. I don’t know. What differ¬ 
ence does that make ? The Parsonses are 
friends of ours.” 

“No difference, I hope. Only don’t plan 
too much on this Patricia—until you meet 
her.” 

“ Mother, I think you are horrid. Just 
because we are poor, and I have to wear a lot 
of Irma’s cast-off things, is no reason why a 
rich girl can’t like me. I’m just as good as 



30 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


she is. My dear old Dad is as honest as the 
day is long—” 

“ He is that,” interrupted her mother with 
a faint touch of pride in her voice. 

But Joyce, unheeding, hurried on. 

“ I know he’s been unlucky. A livery 
stable isn’t like a garage. But Dad’s prices 
are fair, his horses are good and well-treated, 
even if they are used only for trucking and 
heavy hauling. Of course he can’t keep 
horses for driving, when every one rides in 
automobiles.” 

Joyce was rushing on, almost in tears. Her 
father was her idol. Then, noticing her 
mother’s face: ‘‘And I don’t care if Patri¬ 
cia’s mother was—or is—or was—^Molly Par¬ 
sons, she can’t be one bit finer or sweeter or 
dearer or better than my mother.” 

‘ Joyce stamped her foot. Emotion was 
getting the better of her, and she would not 
cry. Mrs. Hunter bent her head lower over 
her mending. 

“ I’m not saying all that isn’t true,” she said 
in a low voice. “ We have tried to make you 
children happy, and—” 


JOYCE 


31 


“You have! You have!” Joyce sprang 
into her mother’s lap. Then, and only then, 
did she discover the tears in her mother’s eyes. 
Her surprise stopped the ready flow from her 
own eyes. 

“ Why, Mummy, you’re crying.” 

“ Only because what you just said made me 
happy, dear.” 

Such moments between Joyce and her 
mother were rare, and therefore like jewels 
set in precious metal. 

“ I suppose I am cross, at times, and hard, 
but I do get so tired, Joyce.” 

“ I know you do. Mummy, and I’m going to 
help you more from now on.” 

Mrs. Hunter could not refrain from smil¬ 
ing. Joyce was such an impulsive child. 
None of the Hunter children had ever grown 
up, so far as their mother was concerned, and 
Joyce, almost sixteen, seemed still a little girl 
to her mother. 

“ When Patricia comes, you will be busier 
than ever.” 

“ But you just said,” answered Joyce, “ that 
I wouldn’t like her, or she wouldn’t like me— 


32 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

or, anyway, that we wouldn’t be friends.” 

“ No, dear, I only said, ‘ Wait till you know 
her before you plan on her friendship.’ You 
do build air-castles so readily, Joyce.” 

Joyce got to her feet. 

“ And they always tumble, don’t they. 
Mother? ” 

“ Well, air-castles generally do. Their 
foundations are so slight.” 

“But these won’t. I’ll be sensible this 
time. I’ll wait until I see her. But just 
think—next door, and everything. Think of 
the wonderful times we can have together. 
Think—” 

But the rest of Joyce’s thought remained 
suspended in mid-air, for a very disgusted 
boy, ten years or so, his cap pulled tightly 
down over wavy yellow hair, entered the room. 
That he was in deep gloom could be told at a 
glance. He was dragging by the hand a 
chubby youngster who looked more like five 
than seven; and at their heels followed a cur 
dog, his tail between his legs. 

Mrs. Hunter looked up. 

“ Why, Timmie, what’s the matter? ” 


JOYCE 


33 


‘‘Matter? You might know! What’d 
you ever let him go to school for, anyway? ” 

The older boy spoke, his voice undecided 
between tears and anger. 

“ I didn’t do a thing. Mother; honest, I 
didn’t.” This, with Bobbie’s cherubic smile 
to the fore. 

“Oh, no, of course not! You never do! 
Just listen! He—” 

“ Now, Timmie, before you get started on 
a long-winded story, let me hear Bobbie’s 
side.” 

“ Yes, it’s always Bobbie’s side.” 

“ Timmie! ” 

Timmie subsided. 

“ Well,” said Bobbie, “ I went along and 
went along. I wanted to follow Timmie,” 
with a look at his slightly olderT)rother, “and, 
of course, he wouldn’t let me. Pushed me 
out of the way. So then I saw Bingo, and I 
whistled to him—” 

“Whistle! You can’t whistle! You grabbed 
him by the tail! ” 

Timmie’s wrath was greater than his dis¬ 
cretion. 



34 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Anyhow,” Bobbie proceeded calmly, 
‘‘ Bingo went along with me.” 

“ You didn’t take him in school? ” Mrs. 
Hunter, horrified, was beginning to see a 
faint light. 

“ Well, no, not exactly. I didn’t take him. 
He just went.” 

“ Yes, and then what? ” asked the enraged 
Timmie. 

“Well, teacher said, ‘Whose dog is it?’ 
And I said, ‘ My brother’s.’ And she said, 
‘ What is your brother’s dog doing in here? 
Bobbie was talking fast, a sure sign of 
approaching tears. “ And I said, ‘ I don’t 
know ’; and she said, ‘ You ought to know ’; 
and I said, ‘ I’ll go find him ’; and she said, 
That would be a very good idea.’ So Bingo 
and I, we went—” 

“ Yes, you came blubbering into my room, 
where all the fellows were, and there you 
stood, crying and yelling for me—and I had 
to leave everything and bring you home. Gee! 
Mother, he’s an awful baby! Why’d you let 
him go to school? ” 

“Timmie!” Mrs. Hunter spoke firmly. 


JOYCE 


35 


Go to your room, and stay there until I give 
you permission to leave! ” 

Timmie turned, and the look on his face 
stabbed Joyce’s heart. 

“ Oh, Mother,” she said, “ I honestly think 
Timmie had good cause—” 

“ Please not to interfere, Joyce,” her 
mother’s voice was severe. ‘‘ Bobbie, stop 
your crying this instant. Go wash your hands 
and face. And Joyce, you may take Bingo, 
really the cause of all this trouble, out and tie 
him.” 

Mrs. Hunter was not without a sense of 
humor, though she ruled her children with 
justice, almost stern at times,—^but, so far 
as she was able, with fairness. 

Of all her children, Timmie was hardest for 
her to understand. Next to the youngest, 
sturdy, independent, a stern sense of justice, 
inherited from his mother, was deeply rooted 
in him. Nothing hurt him quite so much as 
unfairness, whether directed toward himself 
or toward another. 

Now he leaned out the window of his room, 
gazing into the golden sunshine which spat- 


36 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

tered the streets below. The grade school 
had been dismissed, and Timmie watched his 
friends running past the house, shouting and 
calling, tossing a baseball from one to another. 
Timmie choked, and clenched his hands. 
They were going to elect a new captain for the 
team to-day—and he—^he—^had hoped—Well, 
it was too late now. And he wasn’t to blame! 
Bobbie had no right to haul Bingo into school, 
and then blame him! Making him feel 
foolish before all the fellows! And Bingo 
wasn’t to blame, either. Poor old Bingo! 
Tied up out there in the yard. Of course— 
he gulped—of course, he needn’t have told it 
to his mother just as he did; needn’t have 
spoken to Bobbie the way he did. But it was 
Bobbie’s fault, the whole thing. Only one 
consolation. Raoul would understand. 

It seemed ages though, before Raoul came, 
bounding up the stairs to the room shared 
jointly with Timmie. 

‘'Why, what’s the matter? What you in 
here for, this kind of a day? ” 

“ I—I—” said Timmie. 

“ All right. Out with it, old pal.” 




JOYCE 


37 


Raoul’s big, cheerful smile seemed to absorb 
Timmie’s trouble and hurt at once. Out 
poured the whole thing, Timmie’s side of the 
story, into sympathetic ears. 

Well, it was a bit rough on you, but 
Mother means it for the best. You’ll see it 
some day.” 

Timmie looked up at him with adoring eyes. 

‘‘ Oh, gee! Do you suppose I ever will be 
seventeen and grown-up like you? And able 
to get a job? ” 

Raoul’s cheery smile answered him. 

‘‘ Well, I’d say at the rate you’re going, in 
about seven years you’ll be just seventeen, and 
grown-up, more or less. But nix on that job 
stuff. One of us has got to amount to some¬ 
thing, and, as far as I can see, that one is 
you. And you’re not going to stop after your 
second year at high school—not if I have my 
say. Come along. Let’s eat.” 

Timmie got to his feet, then sank down 
again, rather suddenly. 

“ I’m not to leave the room until she says 


38 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

‘‘ Oh, she didn’t mean lunch. Wait a min¬ 
ute.” 

From the top of the back stairs Raoul’s 
cheery voice summoned his mother. Joyce 
answered. 

“ That you, Ray? What do you want? ” 

“ Is Mother there? ” 

“ Uh-huh. In the dining-room. Can’t I 
do it? ” 

“ Ask her if Timmie can come down now? ” 

“ Righto.” And a moment later: “He can. 
And, oh, Ray, don’t shout so! Irma has a 
headache.” With much mischief in her voice. 

Raoul grinned unseen in the dimness of the 
upper hall. 

“ I get you,” he answered, and went whis¬ 
tling gayly back to Timmie. 

“ Come along, old pal.” It was only on 
occasions like these that he used any term of 
endearment with his younger brother “ Wipe 
off that woebegone look.” 

Timmie obeyed as Raoul flung an arm 
across his younger brother’s shoulders. To¬ 
gether they started down the broad front 
stairs, so shining once, so shabby now. 


JOYCE 


39 


There, now! I almost forgot. Saw 
Freddy Thorpe just as I was coming in, and 
he said to tell you that they had decided not to 
elect their new team-captain till next week.” 

Timmie straightened suddenly. 

“ What’s for lunch? ” he asked, his face 
aglow. 

But it was not until that evening that Joyce 
thought to impart her news to the masculine 
side of her family, and even then it was really 
not Joyce, but Irma, who told it. 

Around the big table in the front room, 
after supper was over and the dishes done, the 
entire family gathered. Timmie and Bobbie 
played checkers in one corner of the room, Mr. 
Hunter, tired and relaxed, read the evening 
paper; Mrs. Hunter bent over some darning; 
Raoul was not going out, and was helping 
Joyce work out a cross-word puzzle from the 
Sunday paper. Irma had a new book from 
the library. 

This was the favorite gathering-place of 
the family. The room was large, and full of 
comfortable though shabby chairs and tables 
—essentially built for a good time. A huge 


40 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

fireplace occupied one entire end of the room, 
just right for popping corn, or for telling 
ghost-stories on a winter evening; the floors 
were old, so there was no objection to dancing. 

A battered piano stood in one corner, and 
this, with an old shabby couch, completed the 
furnishings of the room. 

“ Every room in the house is my favorite 
one—except the kitchen,” declared Joyce. 

And indeed the house was thoroughly lived 
in and enjoyed. 

A soft, early fall wind stirred the curtains 
of the room. 

Mrs. Hunter shivered and drew her sweater 
more closely about her shoulders. 

“ Cold, Mother? ” Raoul was quick to 
notice. 

“ No, but I hate to think of winter.” 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t,” said Joyce. “ Just think— 
snowballs, sliding, skating—” 

“ And Patricia,” languidly interrupted 
Irma. 

“ Who? ” asked Mr. Hunter. 

‘‘ Hadn’t you heard? ” In her slow, exas¬ 
perating way, Irma blocked out Joyce’s more 



JOYCE 


41 


eager speech. The Parsons’ granddaughter, 
Patricia Strickland, is coming out here for the 
winter.” 

“ For how long? ” 

Why? ” 

“ Who is she? ” 

The interest was most satisfying, and now 
Joyce had her turn. Eagerly she explained 
all she had heard from Grandma and Grand¬ 
father Parsons. 

‘‘ And they’re very, very rich,” added Irma 
when Joyce had finished. 

Timmie and Bobbie had lost interest, and 
gone on with their game of checkers. Baoul 
glanced from Irma to Joyce’s glowing face. 

“ I hope she’s a good scout—for Joyce’s 
sake,” he added under his breath. 


CHAPTER III 


PATRICIA 

Miss Brent’s school for girls opened earlier 
than usual that year. Generally the date was 
set in October, but the announcement this year 
said September 20. This was done in order 
to provide the girls with a longer Christmas 
vacation. 

Patricia Strickland, pretty, straight, and 
supple, with the eager grace of sixteen, charm¬ 
ingly clad, simply but very expensively, 
stepped from a roadster drawn up near the 
curb, and paused. 

“You may leave it,” she ordered. 

The man at the wheel touched his cap. 

“ Yes, Miss Patricia.” Then he ventured 
to protest. “ Your mother doesn’t like to 
have you drive it through the city alone.” 

Patricia turned upon him a look cold as 
steel. She raised eyebrows, which were thin 
fine lines on her forehead. 

“ That will do, Stephen. I said you might 
leave it.” 


42 


PATRICIA 


43 


Again the man touched his cap, and this 
time stepped from the car. It was not until 
he was halfway home that a worried frown 
gathered between his brows. 

“ Hope she don’t go far; I forgot to tell her 
the gas was low.” 

Patricia proceeded leisurely on her way, 
glancing now and then indifferently at groups 
of girls gathered here and there. Her eyes 
scanned their costumes, for the most part 
disapprovingly. 

‘‘ Wonder what Miss Brent can be thinking 
of. These new girls are the scraggliest look¬ 
ing—” 

She did not finish her comment, even to her¬ 
self, for, gathered in a group in one of the 
reception-rooms of the main building several 
girls were evidently having a consultation. 
Patricia joined them. Their exclamations 
were none too low, considering their import, 
and the place in which they were being 
expressed. 

“ Isn’t it just too bad? ” 

‘‘ I think it’s a shame.” 


44 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ Not one worth even looking at in the 
whole—” 

“ I don’t believe I’ll stay the year.” 

‘‘ Where will you go? ” 

“ I believe I’ll ask to go back to France. 
Last year was wonderful, but this—” 

“ What is it all about? ” asked Patricia. 

“ It’s just a shame. Have you seen the new 
girls? Nobody knows any of them, and just 
look at most of them! ” 

“ What’s come over Miss Brent? ” asked 
some one. 

“ Perhaps she’s turned democratic,” sneered 
another. 

“ These newly rich—” began a third. 

“ At any rate, I needn’t worry about it.” 

They all turned at this remark from 
Patricia. 

“Whyever not?” This expression was 
considered very English, and therefore most 
correct. 

“ I sha’n’t be here.” 

‘'Patricia Strickland!” Several of the 
girls almost wailed it, for Patricia had been a 
good deal of a leader among them. A few 


PATRICIA 


45 


were not so enthusiastic, though perhaps just 
as surprised. Patricia had her enemies also. 

“ Where are you going? ” 

‘‘ Do tell us.” 

‘‘ Abroad? What school? Not to France? ” 

Patricia hesitated. It was a temptation to 
say she had planned to go to school abroad. 
That was true as far as it went. She had 
begged her parents for just that, but, for once 
in her young pampered life, she had found 
them adamant in their plans, and no amount 
of storming or even weeping could move them. 
Patricia was rather ashamed of those tears; 
she considered them a weakness, and it was 
very seldom she resorted to them. But this 
time, even they had failed of desired results. 

“ No,” she replied slowly. ‘‘ I am—going 
west.” 

Oh, Patricia, you lucky thing! Going on 
that cruise with your mother and father? ” 

Again Patricia shook her head, much 
against her will. 

‘‘ I am going fo visit my grandparents,” 
she said reluctantly. 

“ Where do they live? ” 


46 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ Sari Francisco? 

“ Los Angeles? ” 

‘‘ Seattle? ” 

To most of these girls the West was large, 
dim, and unreal, California being absolutely 
the only spot of interest. 

‘‘ California isn’t half bad,” consoled one of 
the group. 

Patricia was having a rather bad fifteen 
minutes. 

“ No. It’s somewhere near Minneapolis,” 
she replied, more reluctantly than ever. 

“Minnesota!” The tone of voice ex¬ 
pressed the girls’ horror more clearly than 
any words. 

“ Why, Patricia Strickland, it’s cold and 
covered with snow, and just too horrid for 
words, and flat, and—” 

“ Isn’t it just too mean? ” Patricia agreed 
fiercely with them. “ I know I’ll hate it. I 
can’t see what ever possessed Mother to think 
of such a place. I’d made the loveliest plans 
for England—” 

“Did you say your grandparents lived 
there? ” 


PATRICIA 


47 


Whatever for? Such a place!” 

“ They—they like it.” 

‘‘ Imagine! ” 

‘‘ Minneapolis, did you say? Quite a 
place,” some one offered consolation. 

‘‘No; near Minneapolis. Westcott.” 

“ Oh,” the expression was blank. Patricia 
wished she hadn’t spoken. 

Just then Miss Hodges, second only in 
command to Miss Brent herself, passed the 
group, hesitated, and returned. She was a 
small woman, extremely dowdy, but full of 
energy, and very efficient in managing girls. 
She came up to Patricia and her friends. 

“ Patricia,” she said, “ I have just heard 
that we are not going to have you with us this 
year. I am so sorry.” 

“ Indeed, Miss Hodges, not nearly so sorry 
as I am.” 

“ You are going away? Abroad? ” 

“ No, west.” Patricia had no desire to 
reopen this unpleasant subject. Her voice 
was almost insolent in its curtness. 

Miss Hodges, feeling slightly rebuffed, and 


48 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

having no intention of showing this, turned to 
the other girls in the group. 

“ We have several charming new girls with 
us this year, don’t you think? ” 

“ Yes, indeed.” 

“ Lovely! ” 

Several polite responses came from the 
group. 

“ Do come along and meet some of them.” 
Miss Hodges extended her invitation so cor¬ 
dially that two or three of the girls felt com¬ 
pelled to go with her. Patricia held herself 
excused by the very fact that she was not 
really a member of the school now, although 
all her closest friends were attending. Those 
left behind gazed after the departing quar¬ 
tet, Miss Hodges in their midst. 

“ Poor old Hodge-Podge, she certainly 
means well,” sighed one. 

“ Girls, you must not be so disrespectful to 
your elders,” giggled another in mock reproof. 

“ Well,” said Patricia, “ I must be trotting 
along.” 

‘‘ Where are you going, Patty? ” 

Patricia whirled. 


PATRICIA 


49 


‘‘ Oh,” she said, ‘‘ anything I detest is to 
be called Patty. I abominate nicknames 
anyway, and I think ‘ Patty ’ is the worst I’ve 
ever heard.” 

“ Indeed! ” said the girl who had used it, 
rather coldly, “ I think it most appropriate.” 

“ Eleanor, if any one else in the world but 
you had just made that remark, I should be 
furious.” 

Eleanor smiled unpleasantly. 

“ So? May I ask why? ” 

“ But since I happen to know that your real 
name is Ellen, I shall overlook the remark.” 

Eleanor flushed angrily, but before she 
could think of a retort, Patricia had wheeled 
on her heel and started down the hall. Before 
- she had gone far, however, footsteps came 
after her. 

“ Oh, you Patricia Strickland! I am glad 
to see you.” 

A younger girl, small, plump, laughing, 
ran up. Patricia’s supercilious stare faded 
into a look of real pleasure. 

‘‘ Why, Mary Taintor, this is a surprise! 
Aren’t you here early this year? ” 


60 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ I am, Patricia, and it’s such fun to be here 
for the opening, and see all these poor, scared 
new girls. Aren’t they ducks? ” 

I hadn’t noticed,” Patricia’s indifference 
came uppermost again. 

‘'Hadn’t noticed! Shame on^you! You 
act as though you weren’t human at times.” 

Patricia looked steadily at the girl before 
her. 

“ Maybe I’m not,” she answered briefly, 
“ but you haven’t explained how you came to 
be so early.” 

“ Oh, I wanted to, and you know Mother 
and Dad never can stand out long against my 
wishes, so we came home a-flying. They go 
again next month, and I’m to be a boarding 
pupil! Won’t it be a lark? Come on Patricia, 
be my roommate. It will be heaps more fun 
than being a ‘ day.’ ” 

Patricia’s face lighted with hope. 

“ I wonder. I’ve tried everything else. 
Perhaps, if they know about you, they’U let 
me. 


“ What do you mean? ” 


PATRICIA 


61 


“ Oh, Mother and Father have decided I 
must go west, to a horrid little place out in 
Minnesota called Westcott. Horrible hole. 
I Ve been there—and I hate it.” 

“ Why, Patricia,”—great surprise was 
visible in Mary Taintor,—‘‘ you’ve never had 
to do a thing in your life. I don’t under¬ 
stand.” 

“ Neither do I,” replied Patricia. 

“ Beg them to let you stay with me. It 
would be such a lark. I’m sure they will.” 

Patricia’s hopes grew suddenly. 

“I’ll try, anyway. It might make some 
difference, a great deal, in fact, if they know 
you are to be here. I’ll let you know, any¬ 
way.” 

Patricia sped off, flung from gloom far up 
into the heights of hope. 

She sped to the spot where her roadster 
stood, and slid into the seat. She loved driv¬ 
ing, especially in the city. It was exhilarat¬ 
ing to her; but her mother, fearful of acci¬ 
dents, had forbidden it. But, as usual, 
Patricia paid little heed to commands when 
they conflicted with her desires. 


62 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Capably she switched on the engine, placed 
a small dainty foot on the self-starter, slipped 
it to the accelerator, to make sure the engine 
was humming softly, and smoothly slid into 
gear. The car glided away from the curb, 
nosed toward town, and soon Patricia was in 
the traffic of Fifth Avenue, alone, excited, and 
happy. But she was not alone long. She 
stopped at a very busy corner, eagerly watch¬ 
ing for a chance to slip ahead in the traffic, 
when she was hailed by a voice from the side¬ 
walk. 

“ Oh you Patricia Strickland! ” 

Patricia put on the brakes and glanced to 
her right, thereby losing the opening she had 
been watching for so earnestly. For the sec¬ 
ond time that morning she smiled in real 
pleasure. 

“ Roy Walker! What are you doing? ” 

‘‘ Looking for a ride,” he invited. 

Patricia lifted her hand from the wheel, 
and placed it on the gear. 

“ Hurry, then. I’m blocking traffic.” 

Hardly were the words out of her mouth be¬ 
fore Roy Walker was settled beside her in the 


PATRICIA 


63 


low seat of the roadster. Excitement and 
exhilaration raced in Patricia’s blood. If she 
should be seen—but then, no one ever saw 
one’s friends in this city, except by appoint¬ 
ment. Roy Walker had been firmly and ex¬ 
pressly forbidden by her father; therefore he 
was extremely desirable. 

The young man beside her seemed to sense 
some of her thrill. 

“Where’s the fire? You’re driving like 
madl ” 

Patricia slowed, and relaxed as she did so. 

“ Habit of mine,” she replied. 

He smiled and folded his arms. 

“ What you so thrilled about, Patty? ” 

For a minute Patricia’s face darkened, then 
she glanced at the man, and her mouth 
twitched into a smile. 

“ If any one but you had said that, Roy, I’d 
be furious.” 

“ What did I say? ” He was curious, but 
nonchalant. 

“ You called me Patty. I detest nick¬ 
names, and I think ‘ Patty ’ is abominable.” 

“ You’re a cute little spitfire,” he laughed 


64 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

at her. And then, recalling, “ Been on any 
jazz parties lately? ” 

Patricia flushed deeply. The “ jazz ” party 
to which Roy Walker referred had been the 
cause of a bitter disagreement between her¬ 
self and her father. She had known he ob¬ 
jected to any such affairs, and she had over¬ 
stepped her own independence by going on 
one regardless of her father’s wish. He had 
been very determined when he had learned of 
it. It was shortly after that that Patricia’s 
winter at Westcott had been announced. 

She had stormed, fumed, cried against 
going, done everything but promise to see no 
more of Walker and his friends. 

“ I will! I will! I’ll see them every chance 
I get! ” 

“ Then we must see that no opportunity is 
presented.” 

This was a new view of her father to the 
spoiled Patricia. 

‘‘ You’re just horrid. I can’t see what you 
have against Roy Walker.” 

Her father’s jaw had set. 

“ If I did not know anything else of this 


PATRICIA 


65 


young man, though I’m sorry to say I do,— 
much more,—^the fact that he would take a 
young girl on such a party against her par¬ 
ents’ wishes—” 

“ I don’t believe that has anything to do 
with it,” Patricia had cut in angrily. “ Just 
because he perhaps hasn’t as much money as 
we have— 

“ Patricia,” Mrs. Strickland had inter¬ 
rupted in disgust, are acquiring a very 

distorted view of life.” 

‘‘ It’s the view every one has—though they 
don’t all say it.” 

Mrs. Strickland had looked at her husband. 
No more was said to Patricia then, but two 
days later her visit to her grandparents in 
Westcott had been announced. 

All this flashed through Patricia’s mind at 
Walker’s question, “Been on any jazz parties 
lately? ” 

“ No,” she answered slowly, “ I haven’t.” 

“ Oh, well, plenty of time. Winter is just 
beginning. And, I say, is it true about your 
mother and father going on that trip to the 
Orient? ” 


56 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ Yes,” said Patricia; ‘‘ they are going.” 

“ O boy! ” exulted Roy Walker. Somehow 
his mood and implication jarred on Patricia. 

“ But I sha’n’t be able to go on any jazz 
parties; in fact, I sha’n’t be here.” 

“ Ob, Patty.” His dismay was real. 
Patricia interested him—she was pretty, 
wealthly, had her own car, plenty of “ pep ”, 
a regular spitfire, he called her. And she was 
not afraid of any one or anything. 

“ What do you mean, you sha’n’t be here? ” 

Patricia paused. Why go all over that 
unpleasant conversation again? 

‘‘ They are closing the house, though pos¬ 
sibly I may board at Miss Brent’s. Mary 
Taintor is back early, and—” 

“ Who? ” interrupted Roy. 

“ Mary Taintor. Haven’t I ever told you 
about her? She’s a dear. Every summer, 
as soon as school stops, she leaves with her 
parents, and they go to the remotest spot they 
can think of—India, South America, Siberia. 
No comfortable travelling, but straight to the 
wildest corners of the earth.” 

‘‘ Does that appeal to you? ” in disgust. 


PATRICIA 


57 


“ Wonderfully,” Patricia glowed. ‘‘ Doesn’t 
it to you? ” 

“No. No wine, song, and all the rest of 
the bright lights out in those forsaken places.” 

Again Patricia cringed inwardly. What 
was the matter with her this morning? Roy 
Walker was the most popular, the most 
sought, the best dancer, altogether the most 
attractive man she knew. All the girls were 
envying her his favor. Of course he was 
several years older, out of college even. All 
the more reason he appealed. But twice in 
the short ride down the Avenue she had dis¬ 
agreed inwardly with him. 

Apparently Roy Walker realized he had 
blundered. 

“ Let’s eat,” he said. 

Patricia’s spirits soared immediately. To 
be seen at lunch with Roy—and, lucky thing, 
she had left word at home that she might eat 
at school with the girls. 

“Where?” she asked, and almost added, 
“We must be careful,” but checked herself in 
time. She hoped he would pick out some 


68 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

place where there would be no danger of meet¬ 
ing her relatives. 

“ I know a slick place—out toward the 
Sound. Want to try it? ” 

Patricia hesitated. The remembrance of 
the disagreement with her father over the jazz 
party was still strong. 

“ Oh, be a sport,” teased Walker. 

‘‘ All right.” Patricia tossed her head. 
She had warned them. 

“ Here, let me take the wheel.” 

“ Not here,” gasped Patricia. But she slid 
around the corner into a side street, and al¬ 
lowed Walker to drive. Away they sped, out 
into the country, on and on. The day was 
brilliant, the air exhilarating, and Patricia’s 
appetite did full justice to the chicken which 
Roy ordered. 

After lunch they sauntered about the place 
for a while. When they again reentered the 
car, Roy suggested, “ You drive.” 

“ You’ll have to direct me,” said Patricia. 
“ I’ve never been here before.” 

‘‘‘ Nuff said.’ Hop in.” 

Patricia slid into high and raced along. 



PATRICIA 


69 


“What’s the hurry?” asked Roy Walker. 
“ If you’re going to drive like that, I might as 
well be at the wheel.” 

Patricia looked at him, a little puzzled. 

“See what I mean? ” he laughed at her, 
leaning closer. As he did so, his arm slid 
along the back of the seat behind Patricia. 

Patricia straightened and bit her lips. It 
would be foolish to protest—yet. Besides, 
she had control of the situation. She was 
driving the car. 

“ Afraid? ” he teased. 

“You know I’m not afraid of anything,” 
answered Patricia, spiritedly. 

“ Then give me a kiss.” 

He suited action to his words. Patricia 
gasped. The attack was so unexpected—so 
sudden. She struggled against him, pushing 
at him with both her strong, slender hands, 
forgetting her position at the wheel. The car, 
no longer in control, swerved suddenly, and 
started for the ditch. Instinctively Patricia’s 
foot came down on the brake, and Roy 
Walker caught the wheel at the same instant. 
But too late. The car gained momentum. 


60 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

and in two seconds had turned turtle at the 
side of the road. 

There was a breath-taking instant, a whirl, 
a crash, the trees and road swung crazily about 
before Patricia’s eyes. Then a dull thud, a 
jar against something solid, a bump that 
knocked her breath out, and Patricia lay, 
blinking up through waving trees which 
gradually settled to their accustomed place 
in the universe. 

Slowly she sat up, feeling for broken bones. 
Finding none, she got to her feet, dusting her 
skirt as she did so. Still blinking, she gazed 
around. Roy Walker, somewhat dishevelled, 
was sitting a few feet away, gazing around 
stupidly. When he saw her, he burst forth: 
“ You little fool! ” 

Patricia, too furious to answer, walked 
toward her car. The wheels were still spin¬ 
ning feebly in the air. Even to Patricia’s 
dazed mind the car looked like nothing so 
much as a beetle upside down, struggling to 
right itself. 

‘‘ You little fool! ” commented Roy Walker 
again, as he came and stood by her side. 


PATRICIA 


61 


Consumed with anger, Patricia gazed back 
at him. She was not hurt,—everything had 
happened too easily for that,—^but she realized 
the situation thoroughly. 

“ How are we going to get it out? ” 

“ We aren’t,” he replied. ‘‘ Lucky for you 
it didn’t catch fire.” 

“ Oh,” said Patricia. ‘‘ It’s hardly dam¬ 
aged at all, but we must get it out.” 

‘‘ Well, you won’t catch me paying for that 
job. I was a fool to think—” He paused. 
“ Come on; we can’t stay here all day.” 

“ Where are we going? ” 

“ Car line about a mile and a half down the 
road. We’ll have to take a street car, thanks 
to you! ” 

Patricia was furious, but said nothing. 
Silently they walked along. Roy Walker 
was decidedly glum. Patricia began to worry. 
What should she tell her father? 

Tired, dishevelled, dusty, she entered the 
coolness and sedateness of her own home. 
She was surprised to see her father in the 
lower hall. 


‘‘ Come into the library.” 



62 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

It was as near to an order as Patricia had 

ever received from him. 

“ Where have you been? ” he demanded as 

she faced him. 

“ Riding,” she replied laconically. 
‘‘Where?” 

“ Out toward the Sound.” 

“ With whom? ” 

“ Roy Walker.” She had no idea of avoid¬ 
ing the issue, though her heart beat strangely. 

A hurt look came over her father’s face. 
“ I forbade you to see him, didn’t I? ” 

“ You did, and I warned you I would see 
him. Do you realize this is a modern country. 
Father? ” 

Her tone was flippant, more from appre¬ 
hension of what was coming, of the confession 
she must make, than from any desire to be 
rude. 

Mr. Strickland’s jaw set. 

“ I realize that you have grown to be a very 
headstrong girl, and that you need curbing. 
I pray it is not too late! ” 

Patricia tossed her head. She felt tears 


PATRICIA 


63 


were near the surface, and she was determined 
not to shed them, 

“ Mary Taintor is back at school. She 
wants me to stay here and room with her.” 

It was an ill-advised time to make that 
request. 

“ No, Patricia. I am afraid we—can—not 
—^trust—you.” Mr. Strickland spoke slowly 
and painfully. 

Patricia was hurt and angry. She turned 
on her heel, saying in a most flippant manner, 
as she left the room, “ The car is in the ditch.” 


CHAPTER IV 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 

Patricia was still angry when she boarded 
the west-bound train with her mother and 
father. The outlook was indeed black. She 
had not heard from Roy Walker since that 
fatal afternoon he had tried to kiss her. The 
girls at school, far from envying her, were 
pitying her; and, worst of all, the roadster was 
in repair, and was not to be sent on to West- 
cott, as had first been planned. Patricia felt 
this last piece of punishment was too severe. 

Only one thing alleviated all these griev¬ 
ances. Challenge, her horse, had been substi¬ 
tuted for the roadster. 

“ Hope we shall find a good place to board 
him,” commented Mrs. Strickland, well know¬ 
ing the limitations of Westcott. 

Challenge was installed in a private box on 
the train, and billed for Westcott. 

Grandma and Grandfather Parsons met 
Patricia, her mother, and father in Minneapo¬ 
lis, for coast trains not only did not stop at 


64 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


65 


Westcott, they even did not know of its exist¬ 
ence. 

Molly Strickland was delighted to see her 
mother and father. 

“You old dears. It’s been such ages! 
Really, I’m ashamed of myself.” 

Happily she kissed them. 

“ Oh, Mother! ” Patricia could not refrain 
from the protest. Such demonstration in a 
public depot was embarrassing to the girl. 

Molly turned to her, a suspicious brightness 
in her eyes. 

“ And this is Patricia. Hasn’t she grown? ” 

“ Quite a young lady,” observed Grandma 
Parsons; but Grandfather simply opened his 
arms. Patricia hesitated. She hated public 
display of sentiment, but something in the 
man’s mild blue eyes touched her, and, very 
much to her own surprise, she found herself 
in his arms. 

“ Remember the time you tried to ride the 
cow through the Curtins’ garden? ” he recalled 
as soon as greetings has subsided. 

“ I was a wild little thing,” Patricia was 
rather ashamed of her former self. 


66 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

‘‘ The Curtins have gone now,” said Grand¬ 
father. 

But this neither interested nor appealed to 
Patricia. 

“Where do we eat?” she was asking her 
father. “ I do hope there is at least one good 
hotel here.” 

“ Oh, we’re not so Wild West as all that,” 
protested Grandma Parsons, half laughing. 
“ Minneapolis is a real city. Westcott, of 
course, is different.” 

Patricia settled back silently in her corner 
of the taxicab. She knew she was going to 
hate this place, but then, she thought rather 
forlornly, a year couldn’t last forever. And 
there was Grandfather Parsons. He was 
rather a dear. She hadn’t remembered him— 
much. She gave him a weak smile, and he 
smiled back encouragingly. He, too, was 
silent. Molly and her mother, and occasion¬ 
ally Mr. Strickland, were busy talking of 
many things. 

Patricia was pleasantly surprised, however, 
when the cab stopped, and they all alighted at 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


67 


the hotel. The restaurant was dim and en¬ 
chanting. 

“ Why, this is almost like a real city.” 

‘‘It is a real city,” replied Grandma 
proudly. “ And you’ve no idea how pretty 
it is out around the lakes.” 

“No doubt.” Patricia had suddenly re¬ 
called that her winter was to be spent, not in 
Minneapolis, but in Westcott. 

“ Westcott is pretty, too.” 

“ Is it ? ” Patricia was uninterested. Her 
recollections of Westcott were not of the 
happiest. 

While they waited for the dinner to be 
served, Patricia kept recalling Wescott. A 
horrid little place as she remembered it: two 
or three streets filled with small stuffed shops; 
the shops themselves filled with an unattrac¬ 
tive assortment of goods—wearables in one, 
edibles in another. Department stores were 
unknown in Westcott. But the comparison 
to the exclusive shops to which she was accus¬ 
tomed did not occur to Patricia at all. She 
was arrested by a sudden thought. 


68 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ Who will tutor me ? Will—will Grand¬ 
mother? ” 

The older people looked at one another. 
There was real dismay on the face of Patricia’s 
mother, but Grandma Parsons said quite 
pleasantly: ‘‘ Oh, no. We have a very fine 
public high school. You will go there, 
Patricia.” 

“A high school? A public high school? ” 
Patricia was aghast. ‘‘ Oh, Mother. No, 
surely! ” 

Mrs. Strickland was at a loss for a minute 
to know how to reply. Then a sudden inspira¬ 
tion came to her. 

I went to that school. Do you think it 
has injured me—so greatly? ” 

‘‘But a public high school!” Patricia’s 
distaste was too strong to allow her covering 
it, even for politeness’ sake. 

“ A very fine one. Joyce goes there. You 
two should be good friends.” 

“ And who may Joyce be? ” 

Grandfather Parsons felt this was a 
splendid opportunity for the beginning of a 
friendship which he felt would grow between 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


69 


the two girls, and he most sincerely hoped that 
it would. Any word he might say to bring 
Joyce into a favorable light, he would speak 
with all his heart. 

“ She is a very dear little girl who lives next 
door to us—in the Curtin house,” he explained 
to Molly. 

“Little!” Patricia’s nose was elevated. 
“ Surely, Grandfather, you do not expect me 
to be interested in little girls.” 

“ Oh, she’s not so very little,—just seems 
so to us, I suppose. She must be as old as 
you are. Now, let me think. There’s Irma 
and Raoul and then Joyce. Irma must be 
eighteen or nineteen, then Raoul—^yes, Joyce 
must be fifteen or sixteen.” 

“ She’s a Junior,” proudly interrupted 
Grandma Parsons. 

“ Seems to be quite a family,” Patricia’s 
voice held a decided tinge of sarcasm. A few 
of her friends had a brother or a sister; fewer 
still had both. 

“ Oh,” laughed Grandma, “ that isn’t all. 
You forget Timmie and Bobbie—and 
Bingo! ” 



70 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ Forget them! I never knew of them— 
and don’t care to.” 

Patricia was stating her aversion in the case 
in no imcertain terms. 

“Patricia!” It was Mrs. Strickland who 
spoke, in a very displeased tone of voice. 

Patricia was still angry with her mother, 
whom she blamed for this undesirable trip to 
Westcott. 

“ That’s quite true. Mother. I am not the 
least bit interested in Joyce—or her large 
family.” 

“ You see? ” Molly Strickland turned to 
her husband. In turn, he nodded his head 
gravely. 

“ And I hate being talked over as though I 
were a—a piece of furniture—or a poodle 
dog.” 

Patricia’s anger was the more terrible to 
her parents because it was cold and controlled. 
Had she burst forth in a sudden fit of temper, 
much might have been forgiven her, but this 
iciness in one so young boded ill. 

Grandma Parsons realized this, too. 

“ Never mind,” she said to her daughter. 



PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


71 


“ She’s tired from her long trip. She’ll be 
better-natured to-morrow. She’s a nice little 
girl, I’m sure.” 

This was too much,—^to be patronized, 
patted on the back by an old woman from the 
country, even if it was her own grandmother, 
to be condescended to, to he called a nice little 
girl. Patricia felt she could stand no more. 

“ I’ll be excused, please,” she said, putting 
aside her napkin. 

“ Where are you going? ” asked her mother. 

“ Out,” gulped Patricia, and fled, before 
they should see the tears of anger and mortifi¬ 
cation which she could no longer restrain. 

‘‘ Oh, I hate it! Hate it! Hate it! ” she 
thought passionately as she sat in the lobby 
waiting for her mother to come and beg her 
forgiveness. “ I’ll never stay there. I won’t! 
I won’t! I’ll run away! I’ll do anything—” 

But her mother did not come, for the first 
time in her life. Always Patricia had been 
like that, going into sulks at the slightest pro¬ 
vocation, and always her mother had sought 
her out, comforted her, offered any induce¬ 
ment to bring back her smile, for Patricia 


72 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


could be very sweet and happy when she was 
pleased. 

Even to-day, though Patricia did not know 
it, her mother had risen to follow her. A 
sharp, “ Molly,” from Grandma Parsons, 
however, had made her sink limply back into 
her chair. 

“ I don’t know where she—^where Patricia 
—is going,” she protested lamely. 

‘‘ She won’t go far,” said Grandma Parsons 
rather grimly. 

“ You don’t know Patricia.” 

‘‘ She won’t go far,” repeated Grandma 
Parsons. 

‘‘ But—but—” protested Patricia’s mother, 
“ she is suffering.” 

“ Then that is her own fault.” 

“ You are hard. Mother.” 

“ You said she needed discipline,” Grand¬ 
ma Parsons reminded her. 

“ I think your mother is right, Molly,” Mr. 
Strickland had interfered. And his wife had 
made the best of the situation, trying to get 
some taste out of the food before her while her 
mind and heart were yearning over Patricia, 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 7g 

—Patricia going without her dinner, Patricia 
sulky, Patricia to be left for almost a year. 

And Patricia, sitting alone in the lobby, 
began to realize that her mother Was not 
coming; began to realize, too, that she was 
most awfully hungry, that she was missing a 
very good dinner through foolishness and 
pride, and began to hate Joyce Hunter for 
being the source of all this misery, never for 
one instant putting the blame where it rightly 
belonged, on herself. 

That night, alone with her husband, Molly 
Strickland had weakened. 

“ 1 can’t leave her. Can’t we take her?” 

“ You know that is impossible, Molly.” 

‘‘ Then I won’t go.” 

But, Molly,” protested her husband, “ do 
be reasonable, dear. It was for this sort of 
thing we brought Patricia out here.” 

But it’s going to be hard, terribly hard, on 
her.” 

Any lesson that is worth learning isn’t 
easy. But surely you, above all people, do 
not want our daughter to become a snob.” 


74 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“But that would be impossible! Not 
Patricia! ” 

“Would it? It seems to me—” Harvey 
Strickland paused. 

“ Well? ” asked his wife. 

“ It seems to me, lately at least, that 
Patricia— Molly, you know, when I mar¬ 
ried, when I fell in love with you, it was 
because you were so sweetly, so simply, your¬ 
self. It is our daughter’s rightful heritage; 
but lately she has shown much evidence of 
other things. We have always done our best 
by her. We must not fail now.” 

“ But surely there is some easier way.” 

“ Not that we know of—^none that will 
bring results. Patricia is headstrong. She 
needs firm control. I did not realize that 
myself, did not even realize that she was grow¬ 
ing to young womanhood, until this affair 
with young Walker. That—that frightened 
me.” 

“ But she admitted everything; she evaded 
nothing.” 

“ For that I am thankful. It shows a firm 
foundation, at least.” 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


75 


Harvey Strickland remained firm against 
all his wife’s pleading, even through her tear¬ 
ful farewell. 

That farewell was painful to Patricia in 
more ways than one. She hated to have her 
mother and father going, especially without 
her. She hated being so far from 'New York 
and all her friends; and, above all, she hated 
being in a small town on a Western prairie, 
with no friends, and nothing to interest her or 
divert her. True, there were her grandmother 
and grandfather. She did not know them well 
enough to love them, and toward them she 
felt only slight interest and the knowledge 
that she must be courteous, and must pay them 
homage; obedience did not enter her thoughts. 

If it was hard for Mrs. Strickland to leave 
Patricia, it was much harder for Patricia to 
be left. When she had finally said good-by 
to her mother and father, at the train which 
would bear them to a near-by junction, she 
walked slowly back to the house with Grandma 
and Grandfather Parsons. The air was 
painfully still, particularly to Patricia, used 
to the rush and roar of New; York. To 


76 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Grandma and Grandfather Parsons the air 
was hushed and lovely. Fall was coming on. 
The trees were beginning to crimson; a faint 
chill could be felt, forerunner of strong winter 
winds. 

Patricia entered the house, slowly, listlessly. 
After one look around, she ran up to her room, 
fearful that tears, long controlled, were about 
to overflow. And once alone in her room, 
overflow they did, copiously, but briefly. She 
dried her eyes and looked out the window. 

Below her the elm-bordered street basked 
idly in mellow sunshine. No sign of life or 
animation! Patricia visioned what likely was 
going on that very moment at school. Sud¬ 
denly she stamped her foot. 

“Oh! I hate it! I hate it!” she cried 
passionately. “ I shall die here. I won’t 
stand it! I can’t. I’ll run away. I’ll—I’ll 
do something! ” 

With this mood upon her, she hastily 
changed to her riding suit, ran again down¬ 
stairs, and out of doors. Grandma Parsons 
let her go without a word. 

Once on the street, Patricia turned toward 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


77 


the Hunter Stables, as she termed it in her 
thoughts, although the sign above the door 
read* 

J. M. Hunter 
Livery Stable 
Westcott 

Challenge, Patricia’s horse, had arrived that 
morning. Mr. Hunter’s one and only assist¬ 
ant, called a boy, but in reality a man, lean and 
grizzled and inclined to be jocose, had care¬ 
fully groomed and deeply admired Challenge. 
Old Hal might have been lacking in much 
fundamental knowledge, but he knew all there 
was to know about horses. 

Pretty one, good boy,” he said, patting 
Challenge softly as he moved about, brushing, 
brushing, brushing. 

“ Some piece of horseflesh, I swan.” 

In the midst of his monologue he looked up, 
to see Patricia standing before him. She was 
dressed in a very modern suit, consisting of 
riding breeches, long coat, boots, crop, and 
hat. Hal’s mouth dropped open: “ Well, I 


snum. 


78 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Patricia flushed angrily. “ There was no 
one in the office,” she explained haughtily. 
“ Is my horse ready? ” 

“ This here beauty yours? ” 

“ Naturally.” 

Hal looked at her again, anxiously. “ Be 
ye a boy or a girl? ” 

Patricia was speechless with indignation. 

“ The horse seems fairly well groomed,” 
she remarked icily. ‘‘ If you will kindly 
saddle him, I shall take him out—at once.” 

“ Well, I snum.” Hal seemed to have 
been left without words except for these two 
expressions. 

“ Oh! ” Patricia was almost white with 
suppressed anger. 

In a few moments. Challenge, saddled and 
bridled, was awaiting her, but old Hal made 
no move to put her in the saddle, and Patricia 
was forced to mount as best she could. 

Her desperate mood transmitted itself to 
the horse, and in a very few minutes they were 
galloping along a dusty country road, whose 
sides were resplendent with yellow golden- 
rod, purple thistles, and the various glorified 



“Bk yk a boy or a girl?”— Page 78 





















PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


79 


colors of a Minnesota autumn. The air was 
sparkling and invigorating, but Patricia had 
neither eyes nor mind for beauty or glory. 
Her heart beat suffocatingly, her eyes were 
unseeing. 

“ The insufferable brute! ” 

Poor Patricia, unused to the ways of a 
country town, mistook Hal’s ignorance for 
intentional rudeness; and though perhaps he 
was crude and very frank, no one could have 
said worse than that of him, as Joyce would 
promptly have told Patricia. Joyce and Hal 
were great friends. 

Patricia was unused to many things besides 
the ways of country towns, and one of them 
was the lay of country roads. Always she 
had ridden in parks, and on the bridle-paths 
of settled country, attended either by her 
friends or a groom. 

But now she was out in country, 
sparsely settled by occasional farms, with long 
stretches of cultivated field and patches of 
woods, with here and there a tamarack swamp, 
or a piece of apparently deserted country. 

Far and fast Patricia rode. It was getting 


80 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


late in the afternoon before she realized that 
she had come many miles, and had not the 
slightest idea in which direction Westcott lay. 

She reigned Challenge up with a jerk, and 
looked about. Her anger suddenly disap¬ 
peared, but her heart beat fast from another 
cause. She was lost, in apparently deserted 
country, since neither human being nor habi¬ 
tation was visible. 

Patricia was no coward. She whirled Chal¬ 
lenge, and urged him to a gallop back along 
the way she had come. Almost at once her 
spirits rose. It was rather a lark, after all, 
and if her mother heard— Patricia left that 
thought unfinished, but her mother’s sorrow 
at a daughter’s loss was rather a consolation 
under the circumstances. Still Patricia had 
sense enough to realize how silly that idea was. 
Plainly, she must get back to Westcott. And 
that was just what she was doing. Nothing 
to worry about. 

But in less than a mile she reached a cross¬ 
road, and learned a fact that had confronted 
many another before her. The road out is 
simple enough, but the road back is liable to 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


81 


be surprisingly confusing. Decidedly, she 
was lost, but not yet would she admit that she 
was frightened. 

She went a short distance down one road; 
then, seeing a patch of woods which she was 
sure was strange, she returned to the cross¬ 
roads. On her second venture she was a little 
more fortunate. A farmhouse appeared, 
topping a distant hill. Eagerly Patricia rode 
on. 

The farm was an untidy place. Discarded 
machinery littered a great amount of the 
space, several ramshackle barns and small 
sheds leaned against one another in the rear 
of the house; a tumble-down porch rested 
against the front of the house; the driveway, 
if such it could be called, led directly past the 
back door. 

Patricia dismounted, slipped the reins of 
the bridle along her arm, and stepped gingerly 
on to the small stoop before the door. She 
rapped. 

There was no response, though she could 
hear some one moving about inside. Again 


82 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


she knocked, this time more sharply. Patricia 
had never learned patience. 

Finally the door opened, and there stood 
before the girl a woman, lean, bent, dowdy, 
with wisps of hair straggling about her face. 
One small child pulled at her skirts, another 
hid behind her. Back of her, Patricia caught 
sight of a kitchen in great disorder: table piled 
with old newspapers; a sink full of dirty 
dishes; torn, dirty linoleum on the floor. One 
glimpse sufficed Patricia, used to daintiness 
and cleanliness. She drew back in disgust. 

“ Could you tell me the way to Westcott? ” 

“ Huh?” 

“ Could you tell me how to get back to 
Westcott? ” 

The woman nodded. 

“ Got a horse, ain’t ye? If you’re afraid to 
ride him, you can walk.” 

“ You don’t understand,” said Patricia. 
‘‘ I’m lost.” 

“ Oh,” said the woman stupidly. 

“ Could you tell me the way back? ” 

‘‘ Tain’t far.” 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


83 


‘‘ But I don’t know—” began Patricia, be¬ 
coming more and more exasperated. 

At this moment their conversation was 
interrupted. A big, burly, red-faced man 
came to the door, pushing the woman rudely 
aside. 

“ What’s the matter here ? Why you lettin’ 
in all this cold air? Oh, I see.” 

He leered evilly at Patricia. 

She gasped and stiffened. 

“ You go on about supper,” the man said 
to the woman. He pushed her back into the 
room, and prepared to step out and close the 
door. 

But Patricia waited no longer. In one 
wild dash she was off the stoop, and on Chal¬ 
lenge’s back, urging with all her might. Girl 
and horse made a flying dash down the crude 
driveway, leaving a red-faced, gaping man 
behind. 

Patricia did not even look back. Madly 
she urged her horse, faster and faster. On 
down the road they galloped until at last the 
girl cast a look over her shoulder. Making 
sure no one was in sight behind her, she drew 


84 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


rein. But the horse was nerved up by her 
fear, and excitedly pawed the ground. 
Patricia made an effort to quiet him, but was 
not very successful. 

She must think. What should she do? 
What could she do? She was lost, undoubt¬ 
edly. The farther she went, the more lost 
she seemed. That woman back there had said 
the town wasn’t far. Why hadn’t she stood 
her ground and found out the way? She 
shuddered violently. Anyhow, she could not, 
would not, go back to that horrible place. And 
the dusk was coming on rapidly. She must 
do something. 

Then she saw a small light on the rise of a 
near-by hill. Another farmhouse! It took 
all her nerve to go on, after the last experience. 
But she must do something. Panic was ris¬ 
ing. She could never, never stay out here 
the whole night. 

Gently now, she urged her horse to walk. 
This farmhouse had the appearance of being 
in better condition than the last one. The 
house showed dimly in the fast-gathering 
dusk. It was painted—and had a porch. The 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


85 


yard seemed neat. Hopefully Patricia turned 
her horse in at the driveway, crude, hut well 
defined. She dismounted some distance 
from the house, opened a gate, and started 
through the yard. But no sooner had the gate 
clicked behind her, than, bounding toward her 
from the house, came a dog, barking madly. 
To Patricia in her present state he looked 
huge, and undoubtedly he was ferocious. 
Only for a second did she pause, and then did 
the worst possible thing. She whirled and 
ran madly toward the gate. Closer and 
closer came the dog, snapping now at her 
heels, convinced that she was undesirable. 
Madly Patricia ran. She knew she never 
could open the gate, and with a mad scramble 
she threw herself over the fence, tearing her 
riding-habit on the pickets. 

She did not pause for that; in fact, she 
hardly noticed it. Her one idea was to be 
again on Challenge’s back. But the horse, 
nervous, unstrung by this unusual perform¬ 
ance, saw only something rushing madly 
toward him. Even as Patricia had fled from 


86 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


the dog, Challenge whirled and ran madly 
from Patricia. 

For a minute Patricia did not realize 
exactly what had happened, and then terror 
clutched her. She ran wildly after the gal¬ 
loping horse, only succeeding in driving him 
into a madder haste. She ran until she was 
weak, sobbing now, frightened and gasping. 
At last, utterly exhausted, she sank down on 
a low bank beside the road. 

How long she lay there she never knew, 
though it probably was not any great time. 

She was roused by the sound of horse’s 
hoofs coming toward her. For a minute she 
had an idea that Challenge had returned of 
his own will, wild as she knew the thought to 
be. A second later she cowered back under 
the bushes. It might be some one, a bandit, 
a robber, one heard such wild tales of this 
western country. Patricia’s normally good 
judgment had been shaken by this unusual and 
rather terrifying experience. Lower and 
lower she shrank, trusting to the early dusk 
to conceal her. 

And so she might have lost her chance of 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


87 


rescue, and spent a terrible night alone in the 
cold, had not at just that moment a girl’s 
high, clear voice sounded forth a loud “Hal¬ 
loo.” 

With a relieved sob Patricia answered: 
“ Here. Here I am.” 

Never for one moment did she doubt that 
that shout had been meant for her. 

The girl on the horse reined in abruptly. 

“ Are you Patricia Strickland? ” she asked. 

Patricia hobbled to her feet, cramped from 
the crouching position on the damp ground. 

“Yes, yes. - Can you get me—some way— 
any way—^back to Westcott? ” She ap¬ 
proached horse and rider. 

“ Of course; that’s what I came out for.” 

“To find me?” Patricia was almost 
numb. Still she did feel faint surprise. 

“ Of course. Old Hal said your horse 
came in. I was afraid you might have been 
thrown. I didn’t dare tell the Parsons. 
Here! Up behind me. Skip can carry us 
both.” 

With something of a struggle, Patricia 
finally reached a position on the horse’s back 


88 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

directly behind the girl. Patricia’s arms were 
close around her rescuer’s waist—and she 
clung tightly. 

“ Hang on, now,” shouted the girl in the 
saddle. “ We’ll have to hurry if we’re going 
to get back for supper.” 

“ Aren’t we miles from that town? ” 
gasped Patricia. 

“ No, only about a mile and a half. You 
got off the road somehow. This is what we 
call ‘ Hollow Lane ’. That’s how you missed 
the town lights. You should have given your 
horse his head. He’d have found his way 
back to oats and stall.” 

“ I never thought of it,” said Patricia. 
What she really meant was that she never even 
knew such a thing was possible. 

The ride, though short, was furious. In a 
very short while Patricia, bedraggled and ex¬ 
hausted, was being helped up the steps of the 
Parsons’ house. And she was not ashamed 
of being helped by the girl who had rescued 
her. In fact, this young girl seemed a person 
of parts. The Parsons’ door was thrust open, 
and a lusty voice shouted: “ Oh, you in 


PATRICIA AND JOYCE 


89 


there! Here she is, safe and sound. Hope 
you haven’t missed her.” 

Grandma and Grandfather Parsons ap¬ 
peared hurriedly. 

“ I was just beginning to worry,” said 
Grandma. “ Is she hurt? ” 

“ Well! Well! ” expostulated Grandfather. 
“Well! Well!” 

“ More scared than hurt, I guess. And 
hungry, maybe.” 

“ You’d best stay and have a bite with us,” 
entreated Grandfather. 

“ Oh, I can’t.” Joyce’s voice was most 
regretful. “ The folks will be waiting. And 
poor old Skip is almost starved. He had a 
double load from the Hollow.” 

“ Thank you, dear, ever so much. I was 
just beginning to—” Grandma Parsons 
stopped abruptly. Her one boast was that 
she never worried. 

“ She’s all right now,” said Joyce, smiling 
at her companion, who had grown strangely 
silent. “ I think a good hot supper will fix 
everything. I’ll be in to-morrow. By-by.” 

Like a flash she was gone. 


90 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


‘‘Who was that?” Patricia asked, as she 
walked limply to the davenport and sat down. 

“ That was Joy,” beamed Grandfather 
Parsons. “ Isn’t she a dear? She’s the one 
we’ve been telling you about. I knew you’d 
like her.” 

“ You mean—she is—Joyce Hunter, the 
daughter of the livery man? ” 

“ Why, yes, her father keeps the stable.” 

“ Oh,” shuddered Patricia. “ Oh! and to 
think she had to have such an opportunity—” 
Then, seeing the expression on the faces of her 
grandmother and grandfather, she abruptly 
changed the subject. 

“ Can we eat now? I’m absolutely fam¬ 
ished!” 


CHAPTER V 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 

Next day, Patricia, refreshed by a long 
sleep and a cold bath, awoke to brilliant sun¬ 
shine—and troublesome thoughts. 

“ To think that that girl should have gained 
such an advantage! And through my own 
foolish fault! Why didn’t I keep on? Why 
did I let Challenge run away? Of all stupid 
things to do! Now I suppose I’ll just have 
to be decent to her—pretend to be, at least.” 

Thus did Patricia express gratitude for the 
service Joyce had rendered. It was well that 
Grandma Parsons could not perceive these 
thoughts when she entered the room. 

“ Thought I’d let you sleep this morning, 
Patricia, since it is your last holiday for a 
while. All arrangements have been made for 
you to start school Monday.” 

This was bitter news to Patricia, but she 
said nothing. 

“ I hope you have something simple to 
wear,” began Grandma Parsons. 


91 



92 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ Oh, my clothes are all simple enough.” 
Patricia’s voice was not very cordial. 

Grandma raised inquiring eyebrows. 

“ I haven’t seen anything exactly simple 
yet. Everything you own looks very costly 
to me.’’ 

Oh, that I I guess my clothes cost enough, 
but, gracious! I don’t see how you could find 
anything plainer, simpler. Mother won’t let 
me have even one decent evening gown.” 

Grandma smiled rather grimly. 

‘‘ You will hardly need it here.” 

“ Oh,” said Patricia. 

But Grandma went on as though she had 
not heard. 

“ As to your simple things,” she paused to 
frown, ‘‘ well, I suppose you may wear one of 
your dark dresses. But do remember, dear, 
that the girls here have not had your ad¬ 
vantages; most of them are not used to your 
ways, to the kind of clothes you wear, to the 
things you do. I don’t want them to think 
you are—are—” Grandma paused for a 
word, and then added, whimsically, “ stuck-up. 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


93 


I’m afraid it is going to be a little hard—at 
first.” 

“ It’s going to be terrible,” choked Patricia. 
“ I don’t see why Mother didn’t let me stay 
and room with Mary Taintor.” 

Grandma realized that Patricia was on the 
verge of an outburst, either of tears or temper, 
and did not relish either. This catastrophe 
must be avoided, but how? Hastily she cast 
around in her mind. Should she tell Patricia 
of the picnic Joyce had planned for that after¬ 
noon? Of what Old Hal had said about 
Challenge ? Of— ? 

But Patricia solved the problem herself. 

“ She’s the luckiest person.” 

‘‘ Who is? ” Grandma came back from her 
puzzle to ask. 

‘‘ Mary Taintor, of course. I was just tell¬ 
ing you of her.” 

“ Tell me more.” 

Patricia sat up in sudden interest. Her 
bronze hair fell in two huge braids over her 
shoulders, her grey eyes grew dark. Mary 
Taintor was the one girl concerning whom 
Patricia was really enthusiastic. 


94 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Her parents travel a great deal, always 
have. Mary goes with them during the sum¬ 
mer months, but they always come rushing 
home in time for school—oh, sometimes a week 
or two late, but what does that matter? I 
don’t see why Mother and Father couldn’t 
have taken me—” 

“Where do they go?” Grandma cut in, 
determined to switch Patricia off a dangerous 
track. 

“ Oh, Japan, China, Hindustan, Italy, 
Macedonia, Egypt. I don’t believe there is 
a spot in the world Mary hasn’t seen.” 

“ I know one,” said Grandma, smiling. 

“ Where? ” Patricia asked in surprise. 

“ Westcott.” 

“ Oh,” Patricia’s interest vanished. “ I 
mean a place worth seeing.” 

Grandma’s only reply to this was, “ What 
kind of a girl has it made of her? ” 

“ Wonderful.” 

“ Patricia was really pretty when her face 
glowed that way,” reflected Grandma. Aloud 
she said, “ Is she pretty, this Mary Taintor? ” 

Patricia paused and thought. 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


96 


‘‘ I—I hardly know. Don’t believe I ever 
thought of that, but every one just loves 
Mary.” 

“Why?” 

“ Nobody’s ever in trouble that Mary isn’t 
the first to see it, and help them out.” 

“ Go on,” said Grandma. Mary Taintor 
sounded much more worth while than 
Grandma Parsons had expected. 

“ When the new girls come to school, Mary 
is always the first to meet them and make them 
comfortable. That’s it. She likes to make 
people happy. I remember one day, the 
worst-looking little frump appeared at a re¬ 
ception for the seniors. Didn’t seem to know 
any one. Guess her friends were ashamed of 
her. But Mary Taintor left all of us. We 
were having a lark, too. She went right over 
to this girl, and stuck by her as long as she 
stayed. Mary’s that kind.” 

“ And do your friends like her—that kind? ” 

“ Every one’s crazy about Mary, not only 
just people, but teachers, too. They’ll do any¬ 
thing for her. Every one just loves her. 
She’s so different.” 


96 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ Do any of the rest of you try to be like 
her? ’’ 

“ We couldn’t. She’s so different. There’s 
only one Mary Taintor.” 

“ Well,” sighed Grandma Parsons, as she 
rose to leave, “I’m glad to know that among 
your friends there is at least one girl worth 
while. I was beginning to wonder.” 

Grandma Parsons left then, and Patricia 
wondered a good many minutes over this last 
remark. It was rather unkind, she decided, 
but she didn’t think Grandma really meant it 
so. Patricia couldn’t decide just exactly what 
Grandma had meant. Finally she dismissed 
the matter entirely. 

Patricia had scarcely finished breakfast be¬ 
fore Joyce rushed over in her usual pell-mell 
manner. 

I guess you two have met,” smiled 
Grandma Parsons, pausing in her daily 
rounds for a minute. “ Introductions not 
necessary.” 

“ How do you do,” said Patricia coldly. 

“ I’m fine. How do you feel after your 
little escapade? ” Joyce was lilting with the 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


97 


joy of the morning. I went down and 
looked at your horse this morning. He is a 
beauty. Old Hal says that he is the finest 
horse he’s handled in many a day.” 

‘‘ Does that horrible person, that ‘ Old Hal,’ 
groom Challenge?” 

“ Is that his name? ” asked Joyce. 

‘‘ I don’t know.” 

‘‘ You don’t,” said Joyce. ‘‘ I should think 
you would.” 

‘‘ I should think you would.” 

“ He isn’t my horse,” said Joyce. 

“ Oh,” said Patricia, ‘‘ I meant the man.” 

Joyce laughed heartily. The laugh was 
faintly echoed by Patricia. 

“ I see,” Joyce said, when she finally re¬ 
gained her breath. “ ‘ Old Hal ’ is what we 
call him. I’m not sure he has another name. 
He’s worked for Dad for years.” 

‘‘For your father?” It was a startled 
exclamation from Patricia. 

** Of course. Didn’t you know your horse 
was in our stable? ” 

‘‘ I hadn’t noticed.” Patricia’s tone was 
chillier than ever. Was she expected to as- 


98 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

sociate with the daughter of a livery-stable 
owner? 

Joyce seemed to sense the implied insult in 
Patricia’s tone. She felt the red creeping 
into her cheeks, but she kept her voice steady. 

‘‘We are proud of our horses. Dad has the 
best stable in town—even if it is the only one.” 
Joyce smiled beseechingly at Patricia, but 
Patricia refused to meet that smile. 

“ Excuse me. I must see Grandmother 
about—about something. Excuse me, please.” 

Coolly Patricia went out of the room, leav¬ 
ing behind her Joyce, hurt and stunned, stand¬ 
ing open-mouthed in the middle of the room. 

The picnic so gayly planned in honor of 
Patricia was doomed to be rather a failure. 

After Joyce had rescued Patricia on that 
Friday afternoon, she had rushed in to a late 
dinner. Her face was aglow, and her words 
tumbled after one another. 

“ Oh, Mother, I’ve seen her, and she’s 
beautiful, even scared as she was out there. 
Poor thing! You’ve no idea how pretty she 
is. Big gray eyes, and her hair is sort of— 
sort of—not red, not yellow, but, you know, 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


99 


both. And not bobbed, either! Darn it! I 
wish mine would grow.” 

She shook her thick straight hair. 

‘‘Do eat, Joyce,” reminded Mrs. Hunter. 

“ Oh, Mother, how can I eat? I’m too 
excited. Can’t we do something for her? 
Let’s see. What shall it be? ” 

“ I know,” drawled Irma from the front 
room, where she sat reading a book; “ have a 
picnic. It’s still nice enough for that. To¬ 
morrow’s Saturday. I’ll come along.” 

Joyce looked at her mother in astonishment. 

“ Do you hear that? ” she asked. 

Then to her sister: “All right, Irma. 
Where shall we go? ” 

“ Oh, anywhere.” Irma, again immersed 
in her book, had promptly lost interest after 
she had invited herself to the picnic, and Joyce 
knew that all the lunch and trouble would be 
left to her. However, in this particular in¬ 
stance, she really did not mind. 

“ Let’s see. We’ll take ham sandwiches— 
the big-bun kind. They are always good on a 
picnic.” 

“ Why don’t you fry steak? ” called Raoul 


100 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


from the front room. You’ll want a fire 
probably, anyway.” 

“ Say, you two in there,” teased Joyce at 
him, “ who’s planning this picnic? ” 

“ Well, I thought I might invite myself, 
also,” laughed Raoul. 

“ Oh, will you? Will you, Ray? ” Joyce 
was on her feet in an instant. 

‘‘ Why, no,” he replied, you girls will have 
a better time alone.” 

“ But it is to be just a family affair. Please 
come, Ray. Come and bring John. We can 
eat about six, and then come home bv moon- 
light. I guess there’s a moon.” 

“ That does sound rather good. I’ll see.” 

“ Please do,” begged Joyce. 

“ Then I’ll supply the steaks,” replied the 
boy. Joyce’s enthusiasm was always catch¬ 
ing, somehow. Irma gave a disgusted sigh. 

‘‘You needn’t act that way,” Joyce flashed 
at her. “ You invited yourself, you know.” 

“ All right,” said Irma, a trifle sarcastically. 
“ Better take Timmie and Bobbie, too. Fling 
the whole family at her, all at once.” 

“ It’s a mighty nice family.” 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


101 


“ I hope she will think so,” replied Irma. 

“ Children, please! ” Mrs. Hunter’s voice 
was tired. Immediately the quarrel subsided. 

So the picnic was decided upon. Joyce, 
Irma, and Patricia were to go out early in the 
afternoon to Flat Rock, a natural camping- 
spot. A huge flat stone, from which the place 
was named, lay in the midst of a group of white 
birch trees. Just below, a small swift river, 
fed by springs, slipped past the foot of the 
hill. On all sides was rolling, hilly country, 
beautiful at all times of year, but thrice lovely 
now, dressed in autumn colors. It was always 
a favorite spot for picnics. 

Later in the day, Raoul and his one chosen 
friend, John Rogers, would leave the milling 
office where they worked, and hike out, bring¬ 
ing the steaks, help the girls build a fire, eat, 
and walk home in the early dusk, singing. It 
seemed ideal to Joyce. 

But when Grandma Parsons imparted the 
plan to Patricia the next day, opposition arose. 

“ How do we get to this place? ” Patricia 
languidly asked her grandmother. 

“ Walk, of course.” 


102 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

I should think they’d use horses,” Patricia 
sneered. 

“ Patricia! ” 

Grandma Parsons spoke sharply, and the 
sneer left Patricia’s face quite suddenly, to 
make room for a look of surprise. 

“I’m not used to being spoken to as though 
I were a child,” Patricia informed her grand¬ 
mother, haughtily. 

“ Then it might be well for you to become 
accustomed—” 

Two stubborn glances met and held, but 
Grandma Parsons was by far, the older and 
more experienced, and Patricia’s gaze dropped 
first. 

“ I don’t know that I really care to go on this 
picnic, anyway. How far is this place? ” 

“ Not far,—” Grandma’s voice was kindly 
again,—“ about a mile and a half, possibly 
two.” 

“ Two miles! ” gasped Patricia; “ and you 
expect me to walk. Indeed I’ll not go.” 

“ Indeed you will go.” Again the steel was 
in Grandma Parsons’ voice. “ It is given in 
your honor. The Hunters are very fine 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


103 


people, and they shall not be offended by any 
child of mine, not if I can help it.” 

Patricia was on her feet now, an angry flush 
staining her cheeks. 

“ Once and for all, Grandmother Parsons, 
please understand that I am not a child to be 
ordered here and there, told what I shall do 
and what I shan’t do.” 

“ As long as you behave yourself as a young 
girl should, there will be no commands; when 
you see fit to act otherwise—” Grandma let 
the sentence go unfinished. Her cheeks, too, 
were unusually pink. 

Again they stared at one another, and this 
time the looks changed to a glare. Then 
Patricia did a very unexpected thing. Her 
anger grew too great to be controlled, and she 
burst into a tempest of tears. 

‘‘ I hate you! I hate this place! I’ll run 
away. I won’t stay. I don’t care what be¬ 
comes of me. I hate you! hate you! hate 
you! ” 

Grandma Parsons waited until Patricia had 
quite finished. Then in a calm voice she said: 
“ You may go to your room now. I will bring 



104 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


you some lunch. You may stay there until 
it is time to start for the picnic. And you 
will go to the picnic.” 

The last words were said very slowly and 
firmly, much like a judge pronouncing sen¬ 
tence. Much to the surprise of both Grandma 
and herself, Patricia turned and walked sub¬ 
missively upstairs to her room, there once 
more to burst into a torrent of weeping. 

It took all Grandma Parsons’ strength of 
will not to go up to her, and undo all she had 
done. In fact, she had started up the stairs 
when Grandfather arrived through the front 
door. 

“ What’s the trouble? ” he asked as the 
sound of Patricia’s weeping reached his ears. 

“ I told her she must go to a picnic. Our 
friends do not suit her.” 

Well, well.” Grandfather was mildly 
surprised. You must be mistaken. Poor 
little girl. She’s just lonesome for her mother 
and daddy.” 

“Humph!” said Grandma. 

“ Here,” he peered up at Grandma, “ I’ll 
take that tray up.” 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


105 


“ All right,” Grandma assented. 

Whatever balm Grandfather Parsons ap¬ 
plied to Patricia’s wounded feelings, none but 
the two of them ever knew. But a very sub¬ 
dued Patricia appeared in her plainest cos¬ 
tume, ready in ample time for the picnic. Her 
face had been bathed and powdered, and a 
slight redness around swollen eyes was the 
only evidence of the storm. Grandma was 
well satisfied. 

But she would not have been so well pleased 
could she have seen the little group a few 
minutes later. 

Joyce, still hurt by Patricia’s rudeness of 
the early morning, had completely lost her 
usual enthusiasm, and walked soberly along, 
saying nothing. Patricia had evidently de¬ 
cided that if she must go to the picnic, go she 
would, but that ended it. She had no inten¬ 
tion of being gracious or pleasant, or even 
good company, and all these things she could 
be most charmingly when she chose. She, too, 
was silent. The whole burden of the conversa¬ 
tion fell on Irma’s none too capable, and 
rather indifferent, shoulders. 


106 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Do you like New York?” she asked 
Patricia. 

Patricia looked at her 

‘‘ Naturally,” she replied in an even voice. 

“ How I should love to see it,” Irma sim¬ 
pered. “ It has always been my one ambition 
to walk down Fifth Avenue. They say they 
have such lovely stores there. Of course, 
really, I think Minneapolis does very well, 
but I can just imagine what the real thing is 
like. How I do long and hope to see it some 
day.” 

‘‘ How much farther do we have to walk? ” 
asked Patricia rudely. 

But Irma ignored this affront. 

“Gracious! We’ve hardly started. But 
do tell us about the new fall styles. I take a 
fashion magazine, but the dresses never look 
right after I make them. Do they have—? ” 

“ Oh, Irma, shut up,” Joyce broke in dis¬ 
gustedly. 

Irma merely withered her sister with a 
“ really-you-are-ignorant ” look, and con¬ 
tinued gayly: “And hats? Do they really 
have Paris styles? So many stores here put 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


107 


Paris labels in the hats, and really they don’t 
come from any further away than Chicago.” 

“ Oh, Irma,” Joyce protested again. 
‘‘ Patricia—Miss Strickland—she isn’t inter¬ 
ested in silly old clothes.” 

“Aren’t you?” Irma turned to Patricia 
for justification of her conversation. 

Patricia’s anger boiled within her. To be 
talked across as though she did not exist, and 
by an ignorant slip of a girl in faded khaki 
knickers and blouse, and, above all, to be re¬ 
ferred to as “ she,” was unendurable. She 
turned to Irma with a falsely sweet smile. 

“ Of course I am interested in clothes. 
Every one is. We do have some ducky shops 
on the Avenue. You would love it there.” 

Joyce averted her face. A quick flush pene¬ 
trated to the roots of her hair. She realized 
that once again she had been “ squelched,” as 
she put it to herself. She stepped ahead of 
the other two, and kept there, a few paces in 
advance, while Irma and Patricia gayly 
chattered about gowns and hats. 

Many thoughts rushed through Joyce’s 
mind. She hated the foolishness of clothes. 


108 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Oh, she liked to look well, but why worry and 
fuss about it all the time? That was Irma’s 
strong point. Why did she—Patricia—have 
to like the same things as Irma? There were 
so many more interesting things everywhere, 
—birds and squirrels and trees and sky. Irma 
had only come to annoy her, anyway, and she 
was succeeding. Deep in her heart Joyce real¬ 
ized that Irma made small difference. Ap- 
parently Patricia had made up her mind to 
hate Joyce. But why? Joyce could not un¬ 
derstand. But twice that day Patricia had 
been almost cruel in a polite manner. Joyce 
felt tears stinging at her eyelids, but she 
forced them back. And Patricia was so 
pretty, so sweet-looking. Joyce had never 
seen such lovely, large, deep grey eyes, such 
peculiar glossy hair of just that shade,—not 
yellow, not red, but both. “ Tawny ” de¬ 
scribed it, nothing else. And such loads of 
it! Joyce tossed her own bobbed locks and 
longed for heavy tresses. 

Oh, well,” she consoled herself, “I’m a 
tomboy, pure and simple. No use trying to 
be a lady, I guess.” 



PATRICIA AND IRMA 


109 


So absorbed was Joyce in her own thoughts 
that she had not realized how far ahead of the 
other two she had moved. Now she looked 
back. Patricia, with a look of pain on her 
face, was seated on a rock. Irma bent over 
her. Joyce hesitated for just a second, and 
then ran back. 

‘‘What’s the trouble?” she asked. 

“ My foot,” said Patricia, slowly. 

“ Turn your ankle? ” Joyce was practical at 
once. 

“ No, it’s in the heel.” 

“ Probably a blister. Let’s have a look! ” 

With the assurance and manner of a nurse, 
Joyce pulled off Patricia’s stocking. Her 
surmise was correct. A large water blister 
had formed on Patricia’s heel. Joyce looked 
at the shoes. 

“ Not much good for walking, but we’re 
almost there. Easier to go on than back, 
now. Here! I’ll fix it.” 

She placed her own soft handkerchief over 
the blister, and stuffed the heel of Patricia’s 
shoe with soft grass. 

“ There! That will raise your foot so your 


110 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


shoe won’t rub against the blister. We’ll walk 
slowly. Flat Rock isn’t much farther.” 

Patricia limped slowly on. Joyce would 
have liked to offer a shoulder, but felt it would 
only be rejected. She picked up Patricia’s 
share of the lunch, glared at Irma for no 
reason that she knew of, and went slowly 
along beside Patricia. 

Patricia had grown silent again, but some¬ 
how there seemed to be a slightly different 
texture to the silence. Joyce, sensitive to all 
that went on about her, merely attributed this 
quietness of Patricia’s to the pain in her heel. 

So, finally, they reached the spot chosen for 
the picnic. Patricia sank down with a grate¬ 
ful sigh. Irma followed suit, longing to re¬ 
open the conversation on clothes, a topic 
always near to her heart. Joyce gave her 
sister one look, then went off alone, in disgust, 
to gather wood for the camp-fire. 

A lovely sunset was flaming in the sky 
when Raoul and John Rogers arrived. Joyce 
spied them first. 

‘‘ Oh, Ray,” she cried, running to them. 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


111 


“I’m glad you got here early. I’m positively 
starved.” 

She led the two boys to where Patricia and 
Irma sat, again immersed in conversation. 

“ This is my brother,” she said, “ and John 
Rogers. This is Miss Patricia Strickland.” 

“ How do you do, Patricia,” said Raoul, 
holding out his hand in a straightforward, 
friendly manner. 

Patricia nodded coolly in acknowledgment 
of the introduction, and completely ignored 
the hand. With one glance at Joyce, Raoul 
turned on his heel. Then he stopped in sur¬ 
prise. 

“ Why, Joy, you’ve got the wood all 
gathered. Why didn’t you leave that for us 
to do? ” 

“ Oh, I was hungry. Didn’t want to wait. 
Besides, I had to do something. Come on. 
I couldn’t get the stakes in far enough for the 
coffee-pot. Help me do it.” 

Together they bent over their task. 

“ Well,” grimaced Raoul, as he glanced 
over his shoulder at the two girls seated some 


112 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


distance away, ‘‘ I’m glad there’s one in the 
family she likes.” 

“ Yes,” said Joyce non-committally, trying 
not to show her hurt. 

But Raoul didn’t notice. He had just 
caught sight of John Rogers, standing awk¬ 
wardly, first on one foot, then on the other, 
trying to make sense of the jargon Irma and 
Patricia were talking. 

“ Oh, you John,” called Raoul, ‘‘ come over 
here and make yourself useful.” 

Alertly, John came over to Raoul and 
Joyce. 

“Now just what can I do?” he asked. 
“I’m a bum cook, and Joyce has been so 
industrious, there’s more wood than we can 
possibly use.” 

“ Since I’ve got the wood, you can set the 
table,” Joyce commanded. 

“ Did you bring one of your horrible 
cakes ? ” 

This was a time-honored joke. Joyce al¬ 
ways brought a cake, and it was always de¬ 
licious. 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


113 


‘‘ Because I absolutely refuse to be poisoned 
by it,” continued John. 

“ Oh, go set the table,” giggled Joyce. “ If 
you stand there talking, how am I ever going 
to get this coffee ready? ” 

Ray interrupted in mock alarm. 

“ Now if you two are going to quarrel—” 

Forgotten now were Patricia and Irma. 
Ray, John, and Joyce were always the best 
of friends, and banter flew fast and furiously. 
Soon Joyce was laughing happily, her face 
red from the glow of the fire, and the exertion 
of getting everything ready, for Irma and 
Patricia had not moved. The boys helped her, 
however, and once Raoul, pausing to stir the 
coffee, whispered to her, “ You’re a regular 
kid, Joyce.” 

Joyce flashed him a grateful look, but no 
more was said. In a few minutes Patricia and 
Irma were summoned to the repast, and a 
delicious one it was. Healthy appetites made 
quick work of fire-burned steak, of sizzling hot 
coffee, of potato chips, of ample bread and 
butter sandwiches, and pickles and olives. 
Patricia ate as heartily as the rest, even prais- 


114 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

ing Joyce’s chocolate cake, which topped the 
meal. It well deserved praising, for Joyce 
had had long years of experience in the 
kitchen. 

And then the moon came up across the 
little, swiftly-moving river, and the camp-fire 
glowed beneath the stars, and the young folks 
gathered around the blaze. Their voices rose 
in songs of a bygone day. “ Juanita,” “ When 
You and I Were Young, Maggie,” “ Just a 
Song at Twilight,” all the quaint old songs of 
yester year again and again they sang. 
Joyce’s eyes grew starry with dreams. 
Patricia had kept silent at first, but little by 
little she added her voice to the chorus, and 
little by little it gained ascendancy over the 
voices of the others, clear, flute-like, golden. 
Then Joyce almost held her breath while the 
boys’ humming carried an accompaniment to 
Patricia singing: 

“ ‘ I will take you home again, Kathleen, 

Across the ocean wild and wide—* ” 

“ Oh,” sighed Joyce, when the song was 
finished, “ I didn’t suppose you’d know the 
old songs.” 


PATRICIA AND IRMA 


115 


“ They are a whim of Father’s,” Patricia 
half sighed. “ I never realized just how much 
that one meant before.” 

It was an unusual speech, especially for 
Patricia, little given as she was to sentiment 
or emotion of any sort. Somehow it touched 
Joyce deeply. Homesick? Patricia home¬ 
sick? Joyce had never thought of that. 

Abruptly she jumped to her feet. 

“ It’s getting late, folks. We’ll have to be 
moving. Mother will worry. Pick up the 
things. We’ll sing as we go.” 

Soon, There’s a Long, Long Trail 
A-winding ” was ringing through the autumn 
woods. 

‘‘How’s the foot?” Joyce asked sympa¬ 
thetically, walking near Patricia. 

Patricia flashed her a grateful look. 

“ Much better, really, only I can’t walk very 
fast.” 

But in spite of her pluck, Patricia’s foot was 
really not better, but worse. When they were 
nearly back, the blister broke, and Patricia 
had to be carried home in a chair formed by 
John and Raoul linking hands. 


CHAPTER VI 
school! 

‘‘I HATE school!” Joyce stopped halfway 
through her breakfast to exclaim. 

“ So do I,” agreed Bobbie solemnly. 

‘‘ Why, Bobbie Hunter,” Joyce laughed at 
him, “ you’ve only been going a month. How 
do you know anything about it? ” 

“ I know you have to sit still, and can’t talk, 
and can’t walk, and if you stick pins in any¬ 
body, you get caught, and—” 

‘‘Why, Bobbie!” Joyce almost shrieked 
with laughter, then attempted to cover her 
mirth with a feigned frown; “ you’ll never be 
allowed to stay in school if you do such 
things.” 

Bobbie looked interested. 

“Won’t I?” 

“ Indeed you will not.” 

“ Are you sure? ” 

“ Of course I’m sure.” 

Bobbie said no more, but left the table, look¬ 
ing very thoughful. 


116 


SCHOOL! 


117 


Joyce, too, had problems of her own to 
ponder, and she was deep in thought as she 
walked along the street on that glorious 
autumn morning. 

She knew Patricia was to start school that 
morning. Should she have called for her, 
taken her in, introduced her to the girls, helped 
her with the teachers? Ordinarily, generous- 
hearted Joyce would have done all this, and 
more; but in this case, pride prevented— 
pride, and something more,—a hurt which 
Joyce could not describe, even to herself. She 
had been prepared to love this other girl, to be 
most friendly, and at the very outset Patricia 
had spurned that friendliness in the surest way 
possible, by an implied insult to Joyce’s idol, 
her father. Joyce realized that she should 
have hated Patricia for her iciness, her su¬ 
periority, but somehow she did not hate her; 
in fact, she was fascinated, and more than that, 
for, in spite of Patricia’s rudeness, Joyce felt 
a warmness in her heart for this strange girl 
that she herself could not understand. But 
if Patricia resented Joyce’s advances, Joyce 
would make no more. 


118 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


So she walked along with a strange little 
hurt in her heart and a strange little tug in her 
thoughts. 

“ No,” she persuaded herself, as she hurried 
past the Parsons’ house; “ no, I won’t offer to 
help her. She doesn’t want me. She wouldn’t 
let me. I wonder if she knows— But, no. 
I won’t offer to help her.” 

Inside the Parsons’ house Grandma Par¬ 
sons was helping a rebellious Patricia prepare 
for her entrance to the high school. 

‘‘ I hate it,” stormed Patricia. I hate it! 
I won’t gol ” 

“ Oh, yes, you will.” Grandma Parsons’ 
voice indicated none of the emotion seething 
within her. Only the flash in her eyes oc¬ 
casionally betrayed her. Grandfather Par¬ 
sons was naturally calm. It was never a pose 
with him. Evidently he had been born with¬ 
out the capacity for startling emotions, and 
had never acquired it. He calmly read his 
morning paper in the sunny front room, while 
Grandma and Patricia argued the case. 

“A little dingy country school! I don’t 
suppose half of these people ever bathe.” 


SCHOOL! 


119 


Not SO bad as that,” Grandma’s eyes 
snapped. Then she added almost in derision, 
“ Practically the whole town goes to the beach 
to swim in the summer.” 

Patricia looked quickly at her grandmother, 
but there was no betraying twinkle in 
Grandma Parsons’ eyes, and a look of disgust 
spread over the girl’s face. 

If I must go, I must.” 

Indignantly she flung herself out the door. 
To Patricia, her own attitude was that of 
injured dignity, but Grandma Parsons, 
watching her go, with a grim smile on her lips, 
used only one word to express her opinion of 
it. 

“ Tantrums! ” she said. 

Grandfather Parsons looked up from his 
paper. 

Aren’t you a wee mite hard on her? ” he 
asked mildly. 

Well, I will say Molly left a real job on 
my hands.” 

‘‘ Why, she’s just a sweet young girl.” 

Grandma relaxed into a real smile. 


120 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ Yes, she is sweet, and she is young. Those 
are her two strongest excuses.” 

'‘Excuses!” Grandfather was surprised. 
" Excuses for what? ” 

Grandma opened her mouth to enlighten 
Grandfather concerning many things, but only 
a single word came forth: “ Tantrums,” she 
said again. 

“ Oh,” said Grandfather, “ I hadn’t noticed. 
Anyhow she’ll get over that.” 

" Yes,” said Grandma. “ She’ll get over 
that.” 

Patricia, a block or so behind Joyce, walked 
with her head held high. A queer little feel¬ 
ing of doubt tugged at her heart, and for that 
reason more than ever she " put on airs,” as 
the town of Westcott described it. 

The assembly room was crowded and buzz¬ 
ing with noise. A stranger in a strange land, 
indeed, Patricia had a sensation entirely new 
to her, that of shyness. Once she started 
eagerly for Joyce, but Joyce was carried off 
by one of her friends, and did not see Patricia’s 
move toward friendship. Patricia tossed her 
head, and some of her old independence came 


SCHOOL! 


121 


back. Indeed! She would show this girl, 
this small-town person who presumed to snub 
her, Patricia Strickland of New York. In¬ 
deed! 

Her reflections were cut short by the ring¬ 
ing of the summons bell, Patricia was left 
standing, while the crowd ebbed from around 
her and settled itself in proper place. 

From a desk in the front of the room a near¬ 
sighted male teacher frowned at Patricia. 

“ Take your seat—at once.” 

‘‘ I have none,” said Patricia. 

What? Oh, I see. You’re the new girl. 
Well,” the teacher hesitated, “ just be 
seated, anywhere, till opening exercises are 
over.” 

Furious at herself for being so prominent, 
so awkward, so ill at ease, Patricia found a 
front seat, minus a desk, and subsided into it. 

Paying no further heed to her, the man in 
charge of the room proceeded with the daily 
routine. This was the period called assembly, 
lasting about ten minutes, and consisting 
mainly of community singing, with an oc¬ 
casional brief talk. 


122 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

* 

Patricia, feeling unduly conspicuous, tried 
to focus her attention on the talk that Mr. 
Johnson was giving the pupils. She decided 
then and there that he was stupid, “ a ninny,” 
and that she would disregard him entirely. 
This decision proved to be a constant source 
of trouble, both for Patricia and for Mr. 
Johnson. 

No sooner had he finished than a bell rang, 
and instantly the place was alive; books were 
gathered hurriedly, papers and pencils 
snatched from desks. There was much talk¬ 
ing and giggling as the roomful dissolved into 
separate groups, each group entering a 
smaller room for recitation. 

Patricia looked on, partly amused, partly 
scornful. 

“ Such commotion! Such an ungainly lot! 
How different, how terribly different, from 
school! ” 

Her thoughts drifted back to groups of 
low-spoken, attractive girls, moving quietly 
about rooms, tastefully furnished. Here all 
was plain, bare. The floors were of pine wood, 
the desks ink-stained, scratched, even carved. 


SCHOOL! 


123 


where some ambitious freshman had thought 
to leave fame behind him in the shape of ini¬ 
tials. 

Patricia’s thoughts were rudely interrupted. 
Mr, Johnson was standing beside her. 

“ Now, if you will come with me, young 
lady.” 

Patricia all but stamped her foot. 

Young lady,” she detested the words. 
No one ever spoke of ‘‘ ladies ” in her world. 
It was a word so commonplace, so middle- 
class. Although she did not stamp her foot, 
the look she flashed Mr. Johnson must have 
been expressive, for he looked surprised and 
somewhat startled. 

‘‘ You—^you haven’t registered, have you? ” 
he hesitated. 

“ No,” Patricia replied haughtily, and rose 
to follow him from the room. 

As they entered the principal’s office, 
two girls turned to gaze at Patricia. She re¬ 
turned their gaze coldly. They were dressed 
simply, but with a simplicity very different 
from Patricia’s. In some manner she implied 
this in the way she looked over, or rather over- 


124 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

looked, the girls. In revenge, the two turned 
their backs on her and began to whisper to¬ 
gether. 

Furious, Patricia marched up to the prin¬ 
cipal’s desk. She’d show them^ the little 
idiots, freshmen probably, and she would 
surely grade as a senior. 

The principal looked up with a pleas¬ 
ant smile, at the same time dismissing a young 
man to whom he had been talking. 

“ Ah, Miss— This must be Miss Strick¬ 
land—Patricia—isn’t it? ” 

He held out his hand cordially. Patricia 
extended her own, and, to her great satisfac¬ 
tion, heard the whispering stop behind her. 
She could imagine amazed stares being turned 
in her direction. 

“ Yes,” she replied, “ I am. I’ve come to 
register.” 

“ Yes, I know. Your grandmother was in 
the other day to see about it.” 

Was that a suppressed giggle behind? 
Patricia flushed. 


‘‘ Was she? I hadn’t known.” 


SCHOOL! 


125 


“ Yes.” Mr. Bates opened a drawer in the 
desk, and took out two or three papers. “ She 
seemed to think you would rank as a senior.” 

No sound was audible from the spectators. 

‘‘ I think so.” Patricia was just a trifle 
haughty—not for the benefit of Mr. Bates. 

What studies have you had? I under¬ 
stand you have been at private school. The 
curriculum there is rather different from 
ours.” 

Glibly Patricia rattled off French, econom¬ 
ics, and various other subjects. 

Hm—mathematics ? ” 

‘‘ No—^very few subjects, at least.” 

‘‘ History? ” 

Patricia hesitated. She had never elected 
history. 

“ Not a great deal,” she said reluctantly. 

Mr. Bates thoughtfully regarded the sheet 
in his hand. Finally he spoke: “ I think— 
perhaps—Miss Strickland, it might be well 
for you to enroll as a junior. That would 
give you an opportunity to become accustomed 
to our ways and ideas. If we see that the 
work is too easy for you, we will then advance 


126 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


you to the senior class. That is all, thank 
you.” 

Angry, humiliated, Patricia turned to leave 
the room. But Mr. Bates’ pleasant voice 
detained her. 

“ And—ah—^just a moment. Your grand¬ 
mother is anxious to have you meet as many . 
as possible of the students, so may I present 
Miss Mary Beatty and Miss Frances Turner, 
two of our brightest seniors. This is Miss 
Patricia Strickland.” 

Choked, blinded with fury, Patricia curtly 
nodded. 

“ How do you do? ” 

Promptly she fled, her face burning. Could 
it he possible that behind her she heard a sup¬ 
pressed giggle? 

The morning session had been bad, but 
the afternoon was worse. To begin with, she 
was given a seat; one of the plain, scratched 
desks was hers for the time being. In front 
of her sat a girl poorly dressed, homely, 
almost colorless as to personality. To be in 
such close proximity, such an enforced com¬ 
panionship of a kind, was almost an insult to 


SCHOOL! 


127 


fastidious Patricia. The girl was well mean¬ 
ing, shy, silent, but that did not increase her 
favor in Patricia’s sight. 

Her first class was French. She had 
elected this, because she realized how quickly 
one can forget a foreign language unless one 
has constant practice. She had always 
been fond of French, and did not wish to grow 
away from it, especially if she should go either 
back to her own school or abroad to study, as 
she eventually hoped to do. Since this was 
senior French, the one advanced subject she 
had been allowed to register for, she was sur¬ 
prised and really pleased to find Joyce in the 
class,—not only in it, but the prize pupil. 
She nodded cordially. Joyce returned the nod 
and flashed her a smile, but made no further 
advance. 

Somewhat surprised and rather nettled, 
Patricia withdrew into herself. Always be¬ 
fore she had but to nod, smile graciously, and 
girls flocked to her side, seeking her favor, 
for Patricia had been a bit of a queen in her 
eastern school. She had yet to learn the hard 
democracy of a small town, the innate dignity 


128 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


of girls such as Joyce, girls reared in a real 
home, girls who accounted no one their supe¬ 
rior, girls to whom snobbery was an unknown 
thing. 

Patricia was beginning to realize this 
faintly, and she was pondering deeply when 
the teacher called her name. 

‘‘ Patricia, you may answer that question.” 

Doubly startled, Patricia looked up,— 
startled by this unexpected use of her given 
name, startled from deep thoughts on sub¬ 
jects far from the school-room. 

“ I—I beg your pardon? ” she stammered. 

‘‘ I said you might answer my last question,” 
Miss Laurence replied with a faint tinge of 
sarcasm in her smile. 

“ I am afraid I didn’t hear the question.” 

“ That is just what I was afraid of.” The 
sarcasm was unmistakable now. 

Patricia was furious. 

“ If you will kindly repeat the question, im- 
doubtedly I can answer.” 

Miss Laurence stiffened. Here was an op¬ 
ponent. She hadn’t liked Patricia in the be¬ 
ginning. What a splendid opportunity to 


SCHOOL! 


129 


employ her power of making scathing re¬ 
marks. 

“ Undoubtedly,” her voice was acid, “ but 
I do not repeat for the benefit of my pupils. 
I expect them to pay attention. Surely that 
is not asking a great deal in the class-room.” 

Patricia opened her lips for biting retort; 
then suddenly she realized her own power. 
She smiled tauntingly—and kept silent. 

Furiously, Miss Laurence* glared at her, 
but she was helpless. Patricia had in no way 
been impertinent, at least, not verbally. There 
was no retort she could make to that superior 
smile. She was cornered, and she knew it, 
which naturally made her more furious. With 
snapping eyes, she turned to seek a victim for 
her wrath. 

But at that second the dismissal gong 
sounded. The class heaved a sigh in unison, 
and made haste to leave the room. Patricia 
went more leisurely, with that tantalizing 
smile still hovering in the corners of her mouth. 
She knew she had made an enemy—and she 
did not care. 

Her next instructor was stupid. There 


130 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


was no other word for it, according to Patrica’s 
ideas. Bored beyond words, Patricia listened 
to him talk on and on. This class was Ameri¬ 
can history. 

She did not realize that he had a living to 
earn, that at home was a wife and tiny child. 
She did not care. He was stupid, and that 
ended it, so far as she was concerned. She 
had never liked history anyway. Who cared 
what had happened to kings and queens dead 
ages ago? Patricia was too much alive and 
eager, too interested in what was happening 
to-day, in what was going to happen to-mor¬ 
row, to be at all concerned over George the 
Third, or any other long-gone king. 

“ Miss Strickland,” Mr. Hale turned to her, 

“ can you tell us which were the first land 

♦ 

grants in this country? And by whom and to 
whom given? ” 

Patricia was cornered. She knew abso¬ 
lutely nothing of American history. 

‘‘ No,” she said, “ I can’t.” 

Mr. Hale looked at her disapprovingly, 

“ You do not seem to care greatly.” 


SCHOOL! 


131 


I do not 3are at all,” Patricia mimicked 

him. 

A dull red flush burned his face. He 
turned to a tall, slender youth sitting near 
Patricia. 

“ Will you kindly answer the question? ” 

Glibly the youth rattled off names, dates, 
places. Patricia gave him one disgusted look, 
then she gazed out of the window, lost in day¬ 
dreams until the class was finished. 

Again every one assembled in the large 
room for dismissal. There were no announce¬ 
ments to be made, and the bell rang at once. 

Again noise and clatter. Some one caught 
hold of Patricia’s arm. 

‘‘ Come along to class meeting.” 

Patricia gazed at the girl. She had been in 
the French class. Other than that Patricia 
had never met her. 

“No, thanks,” she replied coldly. 

“ You’re a junior, aren’t you? ” 

“ Only temporarily.” 

“ Oh, well, better come along. We’re 
planning a Hallowe’en party.” 


132 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Completely unmoved by this appeal, 
Patricia started for home. 

‘‘ I hate school,” she thought bitterly to 
herself, little knowing she was using Joyce’s 
words of that same morning. 

And Bobbie, poor Bobbie, came home late 
from school, in a downcast frame of mind. 

‘‘ It didn’t work,” he told Joyce. 

“ What didn’t work? ” Joyce was mystified. 

‘‘ You said if I stuck pins in people and 
pulled hair, I wouldn’t have to stay in school, 
and I tried it, and I have to go right on and 
besides, stand up in front of the room every 
day for a week.” 

Joyce’s head was buried in her arms; her 
shoulders were shaking. 

“ Don’t cry, Sis,” implored Timmie. ‘‘ It’s 
his own fault. He hasn’t got any sense.” 

“Oh, Timmie! Timmie!” gasped Joyce, 
and threw her arms about his neck. “ You’re 
an old dear to look after me, but I’m not cry¬ 
ing; I’m laughing.” 

“ Laughing at what? Timmie? ” Raoul 
came in just in time to ask. 

“ Jfo, Bobbie.” 


SCHOOL! 


133 


And amid gales of laughter, in which 
Bobbie himself finally joined, Joyce told the 
boys of her morning conversation with Bobbie 
—and its results. 


CHAPTER VII 

THE Hallowe’en paety 

The junior class did not perceptibly notice 
Patricia’s absence. In the small class-room 
where the meeting was held, was much excite¬ 
ment and noise. Only with great difficulty 
was the class called to order, and with greater 
difficulty was the order maintained. Several 
times the president rapped for silence. Two 
girls in the rear of the room had a fit of the 
giggles, and it took several dark looks and 
numerous remarks to quiet them. One re¬ 
mark, to the effect that a glass of water should 
be thrown in their faces, produced giggles 
anew, in fact threatened to engulf several 
others in laughter. Finally,- however, every 
one quieted, and the meeting proceeded, more 
or less according to parliamentary law. 

The first subject of any importance to be 
discussed was a class play to be produced dur¬ 
ing the year. It was easily decided to give 
it just before the Christmas holidays. 

“ Then that means that we must start work 


134 


THE HALLOWE’EN PARTY 


135 


on it at once,” announced the president. 
“ What shall it be? a play or a comic opera? ” 

And then discussion broke forth. 

‘‘ A play is so much more interesting.” 

“ But a comic opera takes in the whole 
class, and a play can’t do that.” This re¬ 
mark came from Joyce. 

“ Yes, but who can sing? ” 

“ Well, I guess most of us can sing as well 
as we can act,” remarked the class wit. 

“ Jimmy can be the comedian,” everybody 
decided after the laughter had subsided. 

‘‘We can get Horbin’s orchestra cheap. 
They always do give reductions for things of 
this sort.” 

“ Bully.” The opera idea was gaining 
headway. 

“ And Miss Staple can train us in music; 
otherwise we’d have to hire some one to put on 
a play.” 

“ All right. Let’s have a comic opera, 
then.” 

The opposing side spoke up. 

“ Who can sing well enough to take the 
leading part? ” 


136 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Before Joyce’s eyes flashed a scene, a picnic 
camp-fire, several young people, and ringing 
out on the clear air a voice, filled with long¬ 
ing, singing the old song, I’ll take you home 
again, Kathleen.” 

She spoke. 

“ I think I know some one who can do it— 
the girl’s part, I mean. Frank Morton can 
easily do the man’s part. Call a special meet¬ 
ing next week, and I’ll tell you all about it. 
Then we can decide definitely.” 

Several of the class looked at her in sur¬ 
prise. Whom could Joyce mean? None of 
them was capable of anything higher than 
chorus work, with one or two possible excep¬ 
tions. What was this mystery? Strangely 
enough no one thought of Patricia, but there 
had been no noticeable friendship between 
Joyce and the newcomer. 

“ That’s settled for this time,” spoke the 
president, “ and now Joyce Hunter has an an¬ 
nouncement to make.” 

“ Hurrah! ” shouted some one as Joyce 
stood up. 

Joyce looked around with a smile. 


THE HALLOWE’EN PARTY 137 

“ I suppose most of you can guess. It’s 
about the Hallowe’en party.” 

Pandemonium broke forth, and it was some 
time before quiet could be restored. 

“ For goodness’ sake,” Leile Grey, the 
president, pounded the desk with her gavel, 
“ do be quiet. This is a perfectly awful meet¬ 
ing. First thing you know we’ll be having a 
teacher in here to chaperone us. Then the 
class will be disgraced. Now! Go on, Joyce.” 

‘‘ You know, all of you, that I’ve always 
had the class party, and I’m going to, again 
this year. Every one is to bring something. 
I think it would be fun to have a regular Hal¬ 
lowe’en lunch, cider and apples and dough¬ 
nuts, all that sort of thing. Then, of course, 
you are to dress in appropriate costumes, and 
the boys have promised to help me fix the 
stunts. Ray said he had some new ones. 
So, everybody, be sure to come.” 

Urging was quite unnecessary, and Joyce 
sat down amid loud applause. 

After the meeting several of the girls 
gathered around Joyce. 

“ You’re an old peach to do it, Joyce.” 


138 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“I’m not the one to thank. It’s Mother. 
Really, I think she looks forward to this party 
more than any of us.” 

That was true. Mrs. Hunter was busy for 
days, cleaning the house, fixing the decora¬ 
tions, planning stunts, thinking of food and 
plates and napkins. 

“ You look actually like a girl,” Raoul told 
her as he gave her a big hug. 

Raoul worked as hard as any one with the 
preparations. He even invaded the kitchen 
the night before the party to help with molas¬ 
ses candy and pop-corn balls. Timmie, too, 
was pressed into service, and even Bobbie did 
his share by keeping Bingo out of the way. 
Irma, alone, was too dignified to enter into the 
excitement. She sought solace with Patricia. 

Patricia, feeling decidedly out of it all, es¬ 
pecially since she had been so haughty about 
the class meeting, avoided, as far as possible, 
all knowledge of what was going on in the 
Hunter home. She and Irma had started for 
a long walk in the woods. These autumn 
woods had been a riot of beautiful color, but 
now most of the leaves had dropped, leaving 


THE HALLOWE^EN PARTY 


139 


a few browns and bronze and dull greens 
where the firs and pines grew. In a quiet, 
subdued way, the woods were as beautiful now 
as they had been a few weeks earlier, but 
neither of the girls noticed them. 

They had started for a long walk, but as 
neither was a very good hiker, they had 
stopped at a little park on the edge of town. 
Here a few benches, with two or three swings 
for children, were prepared to face winter’s 
cold and snow. 

Irma sat down with a sigh of relief. 

“ I’m tired.” 

“Are you?” Patricia was half sorry she 
had come. In some way she did not care 
much for Irma; but Irma was older, and she 
sought Patricia’s company in a manner that 
was most flattering. 

“Just about as tired as I am of that old 
party Joyce is giving.” 

“ Oh,” Patricia turned away. She could 
not understand her own mixed feelings. She 
despised this party,—all the fuss about it, all 
the people who were going, and yet she was 
used to being in the midst of things, to being 


140 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

a leader among her friends. Somehow she 
hated to hear about it at all. 

“ I don’t blame you for not being inter¬ 
ested,” sympathized Irma, after all the swell 
parties you go to in New York.” 

Patricia shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Shall we go back? ” she suggested. 

Oh, I don’t feel like it yet. Tell me some 
more about New York.” 

But Patricia was in no mood to talk about 
New York, not to Irma. 

“ How different Irma was from—” Pa¬ 
tricia did not finish the thought. 

Silently the girls returned, nor was it a 
pleasant silence. Patricia somehow could not 
shake off her interest in the party, hide it as 
she might. Irma realized she had blundered 
somewhere, and she was most anxious to “ be 
in good ” with Patricia. Who could tell? It 
might mean an invitation to the Strickland 
home in New York City. Wouldn’t that 
make Joyce writhe? And the whole village 
stare? Of course, there was the matter of 
clothes and train fare to be considered,—^man¬ 
ners never entered Irma’s calculations,—^but 


THE HALLOWE’EN PARTY 


141 


these things did not concern her greatly at 
that moment; but she did realize that in some 
way she had antagonized Patricia. She did 
not realize that it was her refusal to talk more 
of the party, fully as much as her constant use 
of the word ‘‘ swell.” 

So silently they walked through the quiet 
streets of Westcott, and Patricia dismissed 
Irma at the Hunter gate with a queenly nod. 
Irma, somewhat disgusted, still was rather 
awed at Patricia’s manner. 

The next morning was Saturday, and 
Patricia roamed the house, still enveloped in 
her haughty mood. Grandma Parsons ap¬ 
peared not to notice this “ New York man¬ 
ner,” as she had labelled it. She bustled 
about her shining kitchen. Saturday was 
always Grandma’s busy day, for it was ‘‘ bak¬ 
ing day.” And the good things that did come 
out of her oven! She still had her old- 
fashioned wood-range, for she was sure no 
modern gas oven could brown food properly. 
Moreover, that wood-stove, with a teakettle 
simmering on the back gave the kitchen a 
homey, cozy air that no shining, nickel-plated 


142 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

modern stove could have done. Arid from 
that oven came forth such golden, fragrant 
loaves of bread, such fluffy cakes, such rich 
pies, such melting cookies, that even Patricia 
was almost convinced of its value. 

Grandma’s first hint of the real cause of 
the trouble came when she asked Patricia to 
go on an errand for her. 

“ Certainly,” Ssaid Patricia graciously. 
“ What is it you want me to do? ” 

“ Just run over to the Hunters’ and borrow 
a cup of molasses. I’m all out of it, and 
the cookies are all mixed and ready for it.” 

Patricia hesitated. 

“ Can’t I go to town instead? ” 

Why, no. That would he silly. The 
cookies are all ready. Here is the cup.” 

Patricia went reluctantly. 

Grandma Parsons watched her go. At 
first she thought it was only the attitude 
Patricia had so unreasonably aissumed, but 
something in her unwilling, laggard steps 
made Grandma Parsons look more closely. 
Was it something new? Certainly Patricia 
was advancing against her will, and not in the 


THE HALLOWE’EN PARTY 


143 


usual haughty manner which she had been 
displaying all morning. 

Patricia was gone a long time for the simple 
act of borrowing a cup of molasses. Grandma 
Parsons was still watching when she came out 
of the Hunter home. In some subtle way she 
had changed. Her head was held high, her 
step seemed lighter. 

Grandma Parsons was very busy with the 
mixing howl when Patricia entered. 

“Have any trouble?” she asked. 

“ Oh, no.” Patricia looked surprised. 

Grandma smiled. 

“ It took you quite a while,” she remarked 
drily. 

Patricia looked offended for a minute, then 
she smiled, too. 

“ They were all in the kitchen,” she ex¬ 
plained, “ getting pumpkins ready for the 
Hallowe’en party.” 

“ Oh,” said Grandma understandingly. She 
glanced approvingly at Patricia’s glowing 
face. 

“ I stopped to show them a new way to cut 
the eyes. We did it last year at school. 


144 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Joyce asked me if I had decided on my cos¬ 
tume yet, and Raoul specially wanted to 
know what it was going to be.” 

“ Oh,” said Grandma Parsons again. 

“ I thought perhaps I would stop down¬ 
town—I’m going out for a ride on Challenge, 
anyway. I believe I will go as a gypsy, and 
I shall need a lot of fancy jewelry, the 
cheaper, the better, of course.” 

Grandma Parsons busily mixed molasses 
into the cookie dough. 

“ When does this party happen? ” 

‘‘ Oh, to-night. I thought you knew.” 
Patricia was still glowing. 

“ !N’o, I didn’t know,” replied Grandma 
drily. Then a worried frown appeared be¬ 
tween her eyebrows for a minute. “ Joy has 
scarcely been in all week.” 

“ I suppose she’s been busy getting ready 
for the party,” replied Patricia lightly. ‘‘ Do 
you think a gypsy outfit would be all right? 
I have that peasant costume from our play at 
school last year. A sash and some bangles 
ought to fix it up, don’t you think? ” 

“ It’s silk, isn’t it? ” asked Grandma. 


THE HALLOWE’EN PARTY 146 

** Of course. They all were.” 

Grandma considered. 

‘‘ I guess it will do,” she finally decided. 

The party was a huge success, and Patricia’s 
costume was the most outstanding of them all. 

Though she was masked, her unusual hair 
betrayed her almost immediately. The class 
as a whole was a trifle shy in making advances, 
but being masked was a great advantage. 
When she was caught as “ Rachel ” in “ Jacob 
and Rachel,” they forgot she was from New 
York, and very wealthy, and remembered only 
that she was a girl. Patricia entered into the 
games with a carnival spirit, for no one en¬ 
joyed gay times more than she, and she felt 
certain that since she knew none of them per¬ 
sonally, it would be quite easy to once more 
assume her aloofness with her everyday 
clothes. At any rate, this was diversion, and 
she enjoyed it to the utmost. 

One black-robed fellow, a sort of hobgoblin, 
insisted upon following her about, wherever 
she went. Much to her own surprise, Patricia 
was amused, not annoyed. Then, ouite sud- 


146 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

denly, there were two hobgoblins instead of 
one. 

The class whispered and giggled. No one 
knew who the second could be, but he was 
quite as watchful, quite as persistent as the 
first. 

When the time came for unmasking, every 
one crowded close to these three figures. 
Patricia, of course, was no surprise to any 
one. The first hobgoblin proved to be Jimmy 
Foster, the class comedian. But the second 
hobgoblin refused to unmask. He made a 
dash through the crowd, and gained the out¬ 
side door with every one in full pursuit. 
Around the yard, in at the back door, the 
chase grew hot. In the kitchen he was cap¬ 
tured and unmasked. 

“ Why, Baoul,”—it was Patricia who spoke, 
in complete surprise,—“ I didn’t know you’d 
be here.” 

“ Of course, they always include me, don’t 
you, class of 1925? Can’t help themselves. 
Come on, every one. We’re going to duck for 
apples.” 

Gayly they trooped to the dimly lighted 


THE HALLOWE’EN PARTY 


147 


basement. Three huge tubs, brimming with 
water, in which apples bobbed and floated, 
were placed at various intervals. Jack-o’- 
lanterns grinned furiously from shelves and 
window-ledges. 

Jimmy Foster made the first attempt at an 
apple. On his knees, his hands tied behind 
him, he almost had the apple. Some one be¬ 
hind gave his head a push, and two seconds 
later, spluttering and dripping, he was on his 
feet, the apple held triumphantly between 
white teeth. 

Several of the girls tried and failed. Joyce 
managed to get two apples with only one 
ducking. 

Then followed a peanut hunt, a peanut 
race, and all the games every one had ever 
played in their childhood days. The fun was 
just as furious as though most of them had 

been seven instead of seventeen. 

While lunch was being prepared several of 
them followed the ghost walk down the yard 
to the fortune-telling booth. Such nonsense 
as they heard, such fun as it was to hear it; 
this one was to marry a millionaire, the next; 


148 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

to escape death by hanging, another to take a 
long trip—each one more impossible than the 
one before. 

Then, with appetites sharpened by fun, 
laughter, and the cold fall air, they made quick 
work of the lunch of doughnuts and cider, ham 
sandwiches heaped high on paper plates, “ mil¬ 
lions” of pickles, as Joyce described them, and 
pop-corn balls for a finish. 

‘‘ Oh,” said Joyce, as she watched her 
friends depart, “ I hate to think graduation 
will mean the end of this.” 

“ Plenty of time to think about that,” 
teased Ray. 

It has been a lark,” said Patricia, as, still 
glowing and friendly, she took Joyce’s hand. 

Joyce gazed back, her eyes brimming with 
something more than party fun. 

“ I’m so glad you came,” she said sincerely. 

“So am I,” answered Patricia. 

“ And so am I,” Raoul was most emphatic. 

“ This is a good time,” Joyce thought to 
herself; then aloud: “ I’m coming over soon, 
I have a favor to ask.” 


THE HALLOWE’EN PARTY 


149 


Patricia, accompanied by Raoul, ran across 
the yard to her grandmother’s house. 

“ Isn’t Joy a peach? ” asked Raoul, anxious 
to bring his sister happiness. 

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Patricia, still elated, 
still in a party mood. “ Wonder what she 
wants? ” 

“ I haven’t an idea.” 

“ Neither have I,” answered Patricia, and 
in her wildest imaginings she never would have 
guessed. 

“ Good night,” Raoul held out his hand. 

If Patricia was surprised, she quickly re¬ 
covered, and held out her own hand in friendly 
farewell. 

“ It was a lovely party, really.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


PATKICIA MAKES A DECISION 

Early the next morning Bobbie was astir. 
Raoul had promised to hide two pop-corn balls 
for him, and Bobbie was very anxious to find 
them, for he loved sweets. 

He crept downstairs very quietly, for no 
one was awake after the excitement of the 
night before. Bobbie found a badly littered 
house, for no one had troubled to put things 
to rights, leaving them all until the next day. 
This, however, bothered Bobbie not at all. 

“ Where could Raoul have put those pop¬ 
corn balls ? ” That was Bobbie’s chief con¬ 
cern. High and low he hunted, but he could 
not find them. Finally he sought Bingo for 
consolation. 

Bingo’s home was in the cellar, and he had 
been a much-disturbed doggie the night be¬ 
fore. When Bobbie appeared, he raised his 
brown-and-black head inquiringly, as though 
to say, “More trouble?” When he saw 


150 


PATRICIA MAKES A DECISION 


151 


Bobbie, lie whimpered joyfully, and thumped 
his tail, or what passed for a tail. 

“ C’mon up here.” Bobbie whispered it, 
but it was perfectly good dog language in any 
tone of voice. Bingo obeyed gleefully. 

“ Ssh! ” Bobbie captured him, and at¬ 
tempted unsuccessfully to stop his wild romp¬ 
ing. “ Ssh! They’ll hear us.” 

Bingo’s only reply was a loud yip. 

Bobbie listened intently, wide-eyed. 

‘‘ Ssh! I tell you. They’ll hear.” 

Then, fearing another bark, he shoved Bingo 
back toward the stairs. Bingo understood 
that plainly enough. He came to heel behind 
Bobbie, crouching low, asking forgiveness, and 
at the same time curiosity peeped from his 
eyes. He seemed to say, “ What are we going 
to do? ” 

Bobbie seemed to understand. 

“ Make some pop-corn balls,” he explained. 
‘‘ Ray said he’d save some, the mean old thing, 
and he didn’t, the mean old thing, and I’m 
going to make some. I only had two out of 
all that bunch.” 

“ Two ” was a slight shrinkage in Bobbie’s 


152 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

favor. “ Five ” would have been a closer 
estimate. Bobbie knew where the molasses- 
jug was kept, and he intended to make use of 
its contents. 

With much tugging and puffing and pull¬ 
ing, Bobbie got it out on the pantry floor. 
Well and good! He lifted it to the table and 
removed the cork. Still well and good. But 
just as Bobbie began to pour the slow-moving, 
sticky molasses into a pan. Bingo’s curiosity 
got the better of him. With a loud bark, he 
jumped against Bobbie. There was a gasp, 
a tumble, a spill. 

Joyce, coming down a few minutes later, 
found the mess. Bobbie was vainly trying to 
rescue bits of the broken jug from a veritable 
flood of molasses on the kitchen floor. Bingo 
was jumping around him in joy, and both dog 
and boy were full of the sticky fluid. 

Oh, Bobbie,” wailed Joyce. She was 
tired from the party, and sleepy, for it was 
still early in the morning. ‘‘Oh, Bobbie!” 
And then she laughed weakly, hysterically. 
She could not help it; the sight before her was 
too funny. 


PATRICIA MAKES A DECISION 163^ 

“ I think you’re too mean,” wailed Bobbie, 
who, frightened at first, was now near tears at 
her laughter. “I’m going to tell Ray.” 

“ All right, go tell him.” Joyce, still 
laughing weakly had begun to clean up the 
mess. “ Off to the basement for you, Bingo.” 

Bobbie, in actual tears now, disappeared up 
the stairs. 

Five minutes later Ray appeared, a big grin 
on his face. 

“ Here, Sis, let me do that. I understand 
I’m to blame.” 

“You? How?” 

“ Bob said I promised to hide some balls for 
him. I did, too, in the dining-room, but he 
couldn’t find them, so he started to make some 
for himself. Hence this—” 

Joyce relinquished the broom to him. 

“ Bobbie is a genius.” She shook her head, 
and there was aggravation in her tone. 

“ How do you mean? ” 

“ A genius for getting into trouble—and 
for blaming others.” 

“ Oh, don’t be too hard on him.” 

I’m not! You ought to see Bingo.” 


154 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Again she relapsed into laughter, and later 
in the day the funny side of the whole episode 
again appealed to her. 

“ Grandma Parsons ought to know about 
this.” 

Grandma and Bobbie were great friends. 

After a good deal of consideration, Joyce 
decided to run across the yard with the tale 
for the Parsonses to enjoy. Joyce had not 
done this so freely since Patricia’s arrival; not 
that she thought any the less of Grandma and 
Grandfather Parsons, but now she felt that 
her flying visits were an intrusion, in spite of 
Grandma’s repeated invitations. Before, the 
place had been a sort of second home. How¬ 
ever, she could not resist seeing Grandma’s 
face melt into funny little smiles when she 
heard of Bobbie’s escapade, for though Grand¬ 
ma had a stern side, humor was her predomi¬ 
nating characteristic, even though, at times, it 
had a grim touch. 

Grandma Parsons and Patricia were hav¬ 
ing an argument, which stopped abruptly at 
the sight of Joyce. Joyce flushed, but ap¬ 
peared not to notice. Patricia seemed to be 


PATRICIA MAKES A DECISION 


155 


in rather a friendly mood. She listened with 
as much interest as Grandma while Joyce told 
about Bobbie. 

“ The little imp,” laughed Grandma. 

Patricia, that makes me think of some of the 
pranks you managed in your youth.” 

‘‘ I was a wild Indian, wasn’t I? ” Patricia 
smiled, too. “ Do you remember the time that 
Grandfather called and called and called me? 
And I couldn’t answer because I was hanging 
from a top limb of the apple-tree, counting to 
see how long I could stay there? ” 

‘‘ You? ” gasped Joyce. “ Why, you never 
did such a thing as that! ” 

“Indeed, I did. I counted over a hundred, 
I remember.” 

Joyce still showed her disbelief. Patricia 
laughed. 

“ Come along. It’s that tree out in your 
yard. I’ll show you the very limb. I was 
looking at it the other day.” 

It took Joyce some time, gazing at an ex¬ 
tremely high branch of the old tree, to recover 
her wits, but, once she found them, it was much 
easier somehow, to talk to Patricia. They 


156 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

seemed to have found common ground, a path 
to real friendship. If it only lasted! 

Joy laughed a little shakily. 

‘‘ I always was such an awful tomboy my¬ 
self, still am, I guess; but you—^you seem so 
perfect.” 

She blushed a little at her own compliment. 

Patricia was pleased, but deemed it wise not 
to show it. 

“ Oh,” she said, “ I developed some sense 
when I grew older. And school, of course—” 

“ That makes me think,” interrupted Joyce, 
still looking at the high bare branch swinging 
in the wind, “ we’re going to have a class play, 
and they want you to be in it, to be the star, 
I mean.” 

Joyce knew she was putting it badly, but it 
was now or never, and Patricia seemed so 
friendly this morning. 

Patricia hesitated. It might be a good deal 
of a lark, and it might be a bore—^that would 
depend on the play somewhat. Still—the 
leading part—it really was quite flattering, 
but she took it as merely her just due. 

“ I don’t know,” she said. “ Suppose I 


PATRICIA MAKES A DECISION 


167 


think it over and let you know, say Tuesday; 
this is Sunday, and that will give me time to 
consider.” 

Joyce did some rapid calculation. The 
class was anxious to know definitely, wanted 
to order the play and get to work on it at 
once. Still Tuesday wasn’t far. She’d have 
the class president call a special meeting. 

‘‘ All right,” she said, and added rather 
shyly, I hope you will do it.” 

‘‘ I’ll see,” Patricia turned back to her own 
house. Joyce ran back across the yard, 
skimming along like a swallow. At the 
kitchen door she collided with Ray. 

“ Why don’t you look where you’re going? ” 
she asked. 

“ Why don’t you go where you’re looking? ” 
he retorted. 

It was a favorite joke between them, silly 
of course, as such jokes always are, but they 
both giggled. 

‘‘ Seems to me you are in an awful rush,” 
said Joyce. 

Ray smiled rather sheepishly. 

“ I saw you two girls out there talking, 


168 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

and I was just bringing this—” Ray held 
out a dainty handkerchief. 

‘‘ I’ll take it. It’s Patricia’s, isn’t it? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Raoul, quickly pocketing the 
handkerchief, ‘‘ I’ll give it to her some other 
time.” 

Patricia, true to her word, did a good deal 
of thinking as to whether she would be in the 
class play or not, but she reached no decision. 
Sunday afternoon proved to be a beautiful 
fall day, clear, cold, crisp. Patricia felt that 
perhaps a ride on Challenge would help her 
make her decision. 

She put on her riding-habit,—tan breeches 
and dark brown coat,—and picked up her 
crop, but, following the standards of West- 
cott, she wore no hat. It had seemed rather 
queer to Patricia at first to go without one, 
but she was enjoying it now. Her gorgeous, 
tawny hair gleamed as she walked down the 
street. 

“ Old Hal,” seated outside the stable, smok¬ 
ing an old pipe, watched her approach. Hal 
was ‘‘set” in his ways, and though he had seen 
Patricia now several times, he could not make 


PATRICIA MAKES A DECISION 


159 


up his mind to like her. She was too high 
and mighty ” to suit him. Joyce was his idea 
of what a girl should be, and he never hesitated 
to express his opinions. 

“ Is my horse ready? ” Patricia asked, 
stopping in front of him. 

“ Naturally—not! ” 

“ Kindly get him ready then.” 

Patricia was using the manner she always 
assumed when addressing any one she con¬ 
sidered an inferior. She had not yet learned 
that there were no servants in a place like 
Westcott; occasionally there was ‘‘hired 
help ” or “ do it by the day,” but these had 
their own standing, and were in no way in¬ 
ferior. Naturally “ Old Hal ” resented her 
command. 

“ I will—in a few minutes.” 

“ But I wish him at once. I am in a hurry.” 

“ Old Hal ” gazed at her insolently. 

“ Oh, are you now? Ain’t that too bad? 
You see I’m not. Course you can saddle him 
yourself, if you like. He’s gentle enough.” 

Before Patricia could regain her breath, 
Joyce came around the corner. 


160 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ Oh, hello,” she greeted Patricia in sur¬ 
prise ; then, turning to Old Hal, “ Dad wants 
you to hitch Dr. Holman’s horse at once. 
Hurry call. I’ll drive it over.” 

“ Yes, Miss Joyce—right away—right 
away.” 

Hal rose with alacrity, threw a malicious 
grin at Patricia, and disappeared into the 
stable. 

“ Oh! ” Patricia flung away in disgust and 
anger. She ignored Joyce, who had been the 
innocent cause of this victory for “ Old Hal.” 
Unreasonably, Patricia was angry at Joyce. 
Joy sensed this, and gazed after her in sur¬ 
prise. 

“O dear!” she sighed; ‘‘just as we were 
beginning to be friends. What have I done 
now? ” 

She did not have long to worry, for in a 
very few minutes Old Hal appeared, leading 
the doctor’s horse, and Joyce was in the buggy 
and off down the street. She waved gayly as 
she passed Patricia, but Patricia wheeled in 
order to avoid the salute. 

When Patricia again reached the stable. 



PATRICIA MAKES A DECISION 


161 


Old Hal had Challenge waiting for her. He 
had had his little victory, and was willing now 
to be agreeable. He chuckled as Patricia 
vaulted into the saddle. 

“ Be you going far? ” he asked. 

Patricia did not deign to answer. Instead, 
she struck Challenge with her crop, and gal¬ 
loped down the street and out of town. 

The air was fresh, invigorating; the woods, 
brown in most places, still retained here and 
there a splash of vivid color. Patricia raced 
along, hugely enjoying the exhilaration and 
forgetting her troubles. She laughed aloud 
as she passed the place where she had once 
been lost, and Joyce had rescued her. 

Again Joyce and Joyce’s request came to 
her mind. Again Patricia laughed. 

' “ How silly I’ve been! To consider doing 

a favor for her! Just because people like that 
awful fellow at the stable jump to do as she 
asks, she thinks every one will. I’ll not be in 
any play. It would be rather fun, but if the 
class wants me, some one else must ask me.” 
Patricia was again in haughty mood, but her 
haughtiness was rather crushed, when, in the 


162 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

early autumn dusk, she stopped again before 
the Hunter Livery Stable. The place was 
locked, and no one was in sight. Apparently 
Old Hal had had a purpose in asking how long 
she would be out. She had thought it 
curiosity, and properly refused to answer. 
What should she do now? 

She whirled Challenge, and rode to ask 
Grandma Parsons’ advice. 

‘‘ Why,” said Grandma Parsons, ‘‘ Joy will 
go down with you. Oh, Joy! ” she hallooed. 

“ Don’t.” Patricia tried to stop her, but it 
was too late. Grandma looked rather sur¬ 
prised. 

Joyce came running. Grandma explained 
the situation and Joyce nodded. 

“ Just wait until I get the key. Ray is 
going down as soon as he finishes supper. 
He’ll look after Challenge for you, but I’ll let 
you in.” 

Patricia rode slowly and thoughtfully back 
to the stable, but she did not alter her decision 
of the afternoon. 

Monday, and school again. Patricia had 
not told Joyce her final decision. She had 


PATRICIA MAKES A DECISION 


163 


asked to be allowed to wait until Tuesday, and 
that would be ample time, or so she told her¬ 
self ; but deep inside her a little feeling rankled 
and grew, suppress it as she would. Joyce 
had always been mighty decent to her, but— 
she stamped her foot—she would not be in 
that play! 

Through the whole day the problem 
bothered her. After the last class she hurried 
to the cloak-room to get her sweater. She 
could not find it at first. The cloak-room was 
long and narrow, with a little jog at the far 
end. Hidden behind the jog, Patricia was 
still looking for her sweater when she heard 
two voices, and, unmistakably, they were dis¬ 
cussing her. Two seniors apparently. She 
stiffened. 

“ That little red-head? ” 

“ It was Joyce Hunter’s idea. I don’t 
think the class will want her.” 

‘‘ She is a self-satisfied piece. The poor 
juniors! Glad I’m not in that class—they 
do draw some awful pills.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. Look at Joyce and 
Marcia and—” 


164 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

‘'Yes, but this! Just because she lives in 
New York, you’d think she owned the world.” 

The speaker stopped short, her mouth still 
open, for Patricia, cheeks flaming, head held 
high, marched past her. And though she left 
her sweater behind her in the cloak-room, 
Patricia felt no chill in the outside air. 

“ Why should I mind? ” Patricia asked her¬ 
self. “ They were low, crude, ignorant, and 
yet criticism does hurt, no matter what the 
source. Ped-headed, am I? Conceited, am 
I ? I’ll show them.” 

Patricia paused abruptly. She had caught 
sight of herself in a plate-glass store window, 
and the sight was not pleasant. Suddenly 
subdued, she walked on. Perhaps, after all, 
those girls were right. But Joyce liked her, 
and Baoul—all the Hunters. Yes, but she 
despised the Hunters. Did she, though? 
Wasn’t “ despise ” rather a strong word? She 
recalled Ray’s big smile, and Joyce always had 
been extremely kind to her. That thought 
grew now suddenly into gigantic proportions. 
And every one liked Joyce, even though—even 
though— She did not finish the ignominious 



PATRICIA MAKES A DECISION 


165 


thought which was—“ even though her father 
runs a livery stable.” 

Well, she would show them. She could 
act, and she could sing, even if she was ‘‘ red¬ 
headed and stuck-up.” She’d show the 
mighty seniors that the juniors hadn’t drawn 
such an awful handicap in Patricia Strickland. 

Head still flung high, she marched past the 
Parsons’ house, and straight into the Himters. 

“ Halloo,” she called. ^ 

For a minute no one answered, and Pa¬ 
tricia’s knees weakened ever so slightly. 

Again she called. 

Irma appeared at the top of the stairs. 

“ Please be quiet,” she began, ‘‘ I’ve a ter¬ 
rible— Oh, Patty, is it you? ” Her voice 
changed suddenly. 

“Where is Joyce?” Patricia’s lips were 
set in a thin line. 

“ Why—she—” Irma hesitated to say that 
Joyce was helping her mother, doing what 
Irma should have been doing. “ She came in 
a few minutes ago. I guess—” 

But Joyce herself appeared, laden with 
freshly ironed clothes. 



166 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ Why, Irma, I thought you were sick. 
Oh, hello, Patricia. Nothing wrong with 
Grandma Parsons, is there? ” 

Patricia shook her head. Haughtiness was 
near to prevailing within her, but she spoke 
quickly, stubbornly, as much to her own inner 
self as to Joyce: “ Only stopped to tell you, 
IVe decided to be in the play.” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE CLASS PLAY 

And that play I Patricia never realized 
how much real work there was to a thing of 
this sort. Always, in the east, costumes had 
been rented or made by expensive tailors, 
executives had been hired, scenery supplied, 
all the actual labor taken care of. Here it 
was different, vastly different. Most of the 
costumes the girls made for themselves. A 
few, particularly for the male parts, were 
rented from a Minneapolis concern dealing in 
such attire. 

The play chosen was a colorful comedy; the 
tunes were light, catchy, easy, and the cos¬ 
tumes smacked of pirates and gypsies, all such 
things as delight both actors and audience. 

Every day, as soon as school finished, re¬ 
hearsals began in the auditorium of the high 
school. Miss Staple, the music teacher, was 
in charge of these, and despair was largely her 
portion. 

In the first place, Jimmy Foster, the class 


167 


168 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

comedian, was invariably late; and since the 
play moved but lamely without his lines, a 
substitute had to be found each time to read 
his jokes. 

Then, about halfway through the first act, 
when everything was running smoothly, 
Jimmy would appear, a broad grin on his 
face, and remark, “ I can see you’ve missed 
me.” 

Exasperated beyond words. Miss Staple 
would merely glare at him. 

Nevertheless, all action must be stopped, 
throwing every one out of the spirit, while 
Jimmy found his part, rehearsed a few back 
lines, and finally settled to the business of the 
play. Yet, when he did take hold, everything 
went with such vim that there was no denying 
him the part. Time and again Miss Staple 
threatened to put some one else in his place, 
but such a storm of protest arose that Jimmy 
felt quite secure—and continued to be late. 

“How’s the play going?” Raoul asked 
Joyce one rainy evening. 

Joyce, really tired for once in her healthy 
young life, had flung herself down on the 



THE CLASS PLAY 


169 


creaky old sofa, after the supper dishes werQ 
done. She watched Raoul building a grate 
fire of short birch logs. 

“Perfectly terrible!” Joyce was discour¬ 
aged, as well as tired, “ The chorus is awful. 
Patricia is a wonder. Every one admits 
that, although a lot of them really do not like 
her—” 

“ They don’t? Why not? ” 

“ I don’t know. Guess they think she acts 
too superior. Personally I think she’s been 
pretty decent lately. But she really is good 
in the play. She and Jimmy Foster really 
save the whole thing. I’m the old-maid 
comedy piece, always running after Jimmy, 
you know, and I’m not the least bit funny. 
Of course, every one laughs, but I know it’s at 
Jimmy. I really don’t care, though, if we 
can only make a success of the play.” 

“ It’s a musical comedy, isn’t it? ” 

Joyce nodded, gazing into the fire. 

“ I should think the chorus would be the 
important part.” • 

“ It is.” Joyce sat up with a jerk. “ It is 
important, and it’s terrible. I don’t see what 


170 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


can be the matter with it. That crowd cer- 

t 

tainly can make enough noise when they want 
to, but they are the wobbliest chorus I ever 
heard. Off the key half the time, and never 
together! They completely miss that swing 
which is so important.” 

“ Any music to go with it? ” 

‘‘ Just the piano. Miss Staple plays it 
sometimes, and part of the time one of the 
girls tries it. Yesterday Bob Sullivan played 
his violin, and that helped a lot, but it’s still 
terrible.” 

Joyce threw herself back on the couch again 
in complete disgust. 

“ You’ve plenty of time to work it up.” 

“ Two weeks. We couldn’t do anything 
with that crowd in two years.” 

“ Then two weeks is long enough to drag 
the agony out,” laughed Raoul. “ I wonder 
where Timmie is.” 

Joyce relaxed and smiled, forgetting her 
own troubles temporarily while she remem¬ 
bered Timmie’s. 

“ Playing Don Quixote, as usual,” she 
smiled. 


THE CLASS PLAY 


171 


‘‘ Donkey who? ” teased Raoul. 

“Ray! Aren’t you mean!” Joyce did 
not mind being teased, but Timmie was a 
strong favorite with her, and she did not mean 
to have him belittled. 

“ Who’s in trouble now? ” grinned Raoul in 
return. 

He, too, idolized Timmie, pinned great 
hopes on him, meant to see him well educated, 
felt that he would be the one in the family to 
amount to something. Raoul had been forced 
to give up high school, much to his own secret 
regret. He would have liked to have gone 
through the State University, completing the 
civil-engineering course. His tastes ran 
along those lines, but necessity, responsibility 
of the family,—for he felt that responsibility 
almost as keenly as his father,—had ordered 
things differently. So, cheerfully as he did 
everything, Raoul had gone to work in the 
office of the big milling company. Joyce 
alone ever knew of his disappointment, his 
secret ambitions. To the rest of the world 
Raoul presented a cheerful, satisfied appear¬ 
ance. Now his hopes had been turned toward 


172 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Timmie. In spite of that, Raoul enjoyed 
teasing him. 

Joyce explained. 

“You know those new people down in the 
next block—Haynes their name is, I think. 
Well, they have a dog, an Airedale. ‘ Old 
Joe ’ has lost another chicken, and he ac¬ 
cused the Airedale of killing it. Guess he 
thinks the Hayneses are new, and will pay him 
well. However, it seems that Mr. Haynes 
feels differently about it. He says he will 
either sell or shoot the dog.” 

“ But how does Timmie come in on all 
this? ” Raoul looked puzzled. 

“ I’m coming to that. The little Haynes 
girl is in Timmie’s room. He found her cry¬ 
ing, and she told him the whole story. >He 
says he knows that it was Bingo, and not her 
dog. Don’t know how he’s so sure, but, at 
any rate, he’s gone oflf to her father to ex¬ 
plain.” 

“ Just like him. But—” Raoul straight¬ 
ened suddenly—“ how about Old Joe? He’ll 
want pay for that chicken, or else the dog 


THE CLASS PLAY 


173 


shot, and Timmie’s heart will be broken if we 
have to lose Bingo.” 

“ He knows that, but he said he had to go. 
He was going on to talk to Old Joe after¬ 
ward.” 

"‘PoorAkid!” RaouFs voice expressed real 
sympathy. 

. “ Mighty plucky, I think. Listen! There 
he comes now.” 

Two pair of eyes watched eagerly as Tim- 
mie walked in and flung his cap across the 
room. 

How did you come out? ” asked Joyce. 

All right.” Apparently the task had not 
been an easy one. 

‘‘ What did Old Joe say? ” 

Oh! Old Joe? He’s a good sport. He 
was cranky at first, but he said if I’d come and 
clean the chicken coop every day for a month, 
he’d call it square, if it didn’t happen again. 
But that Mr. Haynes! Gee! ” 

“ What did he say? ” asked Raoul. 

Timmie only shook his head and refused to 


answer. 


174 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Maybe it was his old Airedale, after all,” 
flared Joyce. 

‘‘ No, it was Bingo. I found a white 
feather in his hair that morning.” 

“ Tell us what Mr. Haynes said.” 

But Timmie was obdurate, and there the 
matter dropped, but at least Bingo was for¬ 
given for the time. 

If Joyce was discouraged over the play, 
Patricia was more so. She felt that in some 
way the success or failure of it was due to her 
own personal efforts. She realized that this 
was an exaggerated view, but that did not 
alter the situation. Evening after evening, 
standing in the dim light of the high school 
auditorium, she sang her songs to the ac¬ 
companiment of the old piano. At times they 
sounded well, her voice rising sweet and true, 
but as soon as it was necessary for the chorus 
to join her, to make a volume of sound behind 
her, everything went flat. A few squeaky 
notes, a false start, a complete stop, perhaps 
some one would giggle. Miss Staple would 
look daggers, and another start would be 
made, with the same unsatisfactory results. 


THE CLASS PLAY 


175 


One day, when rehearsals were going worse 
than usual, Patricia stamped her foot, and 
flared forth in a tirade against them all: 

“You make me tired. This is your town, 
your school, your class, your play. I’m doing 
all in my power to make a success of it, and 
not one of you cares enough to do team-work. 
Team-work! Forget yourselves, can’t you? 
Don’t think you are the only one in the build¬ 
ing. There are all the others. Each one of 
you is only one, but—but— Well, can’t you 
see what I mean? I don’t want this old lead. 
I’m only doing it because I’m the only one 
who can do it. Joyce tries. Be more like 
her, can’t you? Jimmy Foster could, but he 
—he thinks only of Jimmy Foster—and never 
minds the class. I—I’d like to quit—but I 
won’t.” 

Breathless, she stood before them. Shamed, 
they watched her, and for two nights chorus 
work went splendidly—and then slumped 
worse than ever. 

Patricia was disgusted, discouraged, and 
for that reason all the more determined to 


176 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


make the play a success. She practised dili¬ 
gently many hours at home. While this was 
going on, Grandfather Parsons would sit be¬ 
fore the grate-fire which burned every even¬ 
ing on the hearth, and listen, humming 
softly. His mild blue eyes would close, and 
his head nod, but he was not sleeping. If 
Patricia paused for a minute, he would mur¬ 
mur, ‘‘ Go on.” 

And if Patricia answered, as she generally 
did when he said this, “ I can’t. I’m sick of 
it. It’s terrible;” he would reply: 

“ Lovely! Lovely! But would you mind 
singing a few of the old songs, dear? ” 

Patricia, with a little smile in her eyes,— 
for she had expected this,—^would ripple a few 
chords, and then, softly, song after song of 
long ago would fill the room. An under¬ 
standing, unexpressed but deeply felt, was 
growing daily between Patricia and her 
grandfather. The music seemed to wind 
about them silken threads along which 
thoughts and feelings ran, not needing words. 
Many an hour Patricia and her grandfather 
spent thus in the early dusk, while Grandma 


THE CLASS PLAY 


177 


Parsons bustled around in the dining-room 
just beyond. 

Grandma Parsons felt sure that Patricia 
was using her voice too much, but since she 
never worried, she kept still about it. 

One evening, while they were sitting thus, 
Irma burst in. 

“ Hello, Joy.” Grandfather spoke without 
opening his eyes. 

“ Joy! Imagine! ” shrilled Irma; “ you’re 
wrong again, Mr. Parsons. What’s going on 
here, anyway? A funeral service? Patricia, 
do come to the public library with me. You 
must be bored to tears, cooped up here with 
these old folks. Do come.” 

Patricia looked at her curiously. 

“ No, thank you. I can’t.” 

‘‘ Oh, you can, too. Do come on. I think 
somebody will be there to meet us—you 
know.” 

“ I do not care to go,” repeated Patricia. 

“ I don’t see why not,” pouted Irma. 

“ For one thing, I must practise these songs 
for the play.” 

“ Oh, that old play! I think it’s a joke.” 


178 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


A worried frown appeared on Patricia’s 
smooth brow. 

“ It will be if I don’t practise so that I can 
sing them perfectly.” 

Irma felt the iciness in Patricia’s manner, 
and went out, raging within herself. 

“ Little snob! I’ll show her.” 

Just how she was to make trouble for 
Patricia, she did not know, but her resolve 
was firm. Before the end of the evening, 
however, she had found a way. 

After Irma left, Patricia continued to play, 
but the spell was broken. Presently Grand¬ 
father Parsons called her to come in and sit 
by him. Patricia dropped a pillow on the 
floor beside him, and sat there, leaning back 
against his knees. He stroked her tawny hair 
gently. 

‘‘Awfully red, isn’t it?” she laughed. 

“ I think it beautiful.” 

“ But you know what goes with red hair.” 

“You mean temper?” asked Grandfather 
Parsons. 

“ Exactly.” 

“ But you haven’t any.” 


THE CLASS PLAY 


179 


Patricia laughed, then sat suddenly erect in 
surprise. 

“ That’s queer.” 

‘‘ What? ” 

“ For a fact, I haven’t flared out lately— 
over two months. Oh, of course, at the class, 
but they needed it. But I mean about things, 
personal things. What have you done to me ? ” 

Grandma smiled grimly to herself in the 
next room, but Grandfather patted Patricia’s 
shoulder. 

“ I don’t think you have a temper.” 

“ Oh, but I have,” insisted Patricia. 
“ Don’t you remember how I acted at first— 
about going to school—and Joyce—and—and 
—all the Hunters ? Why, I wonder what has 
happened to me.” 

‘‘ Self-revelation is a strange thing.” 

But Patricia still had her temper, as she 
discovered the same week. Report-cards 
were given out on Thursday morning. 
Patricia opened hers with eager curiosity. 
History mark—high. She had begun to re¬ 
spect, hazily, Mr. Hale, who, for all his ap¬ 
pearance of inefficiency, was a splendid 


180 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

teacher,—patient, quiet, very much interested 
in his subject, with the ability of arousing 
interest in others. Patricia had learned more 
history in the past two months than in all her 
previous life. She graded high in every sub¬ 
ject but one—and that was French. Flunked! 
In French! 

Her color high, her temper up, she rushed 
at once to Miss Laurence’s room. 

‘‘ Kindly explain this,” Patricia flung the 
card on Miss Laurence’s desk. 

“ It means you did not pass this month,” 
Miss Laurence was acidly sweet. 

“Why?” snapped Patricia, forgetting to 
whom she was speaking. 

Miss Laurence elevated her eyebrows. 

“ Several times you missed recitation in 
class.” 

“ Once! ” retorted Patricia. 

“ Besides, you failed in your monthly 
exam.” 

“ Impossible,” said Patricia; “ I know more 
French than you do. Where is the paper? ” 

“Destroyed!” snapped Miss Laurence, 
Her anger had risen, too, due partly, but nc^t 


THE CLASS PLAY 181 

entirely, to the insolence of this girl. Some¬ 
thing more lay behind this. Patricia felt sure 
of it. 

“ Very well,” Patricia turned on her heel. 
She would carry the case to Mr. Johnson. 

Had it been merely a personal failure, she 
might have overlooked it, but no one could 
appear in the class play who had flunked in 
studies. Patricia realized that without her 
the play now would indeed be a sad failure; 
moreover, the failure was unjust. She knew 
more French than Miss Laurence. She 
made that same statement to Mr. Johnson 
when she carried the case to him. 

“ Under those circumstances perhaps we 
had better dismiss Miss Laurence and engage 
you.” 

Patricia had more than one enemy, and Mr. 
Johnson evidently belonged in that list. De¬ 
cidedly there was no help from him. Patricia 
knew she was being unjustly treated, and 
determined to see it through. She was not the 
kind to complain, to call in outside help. She 
would and could flght her own battles. 

“ You won’t do anything about it? ” 


182 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“What can I do? Your card shows you 
have failed. Your teacher has told you 
why. If I attempted to remedy every fail¬ 
ure, I should have time for nothing else.” 

Patricia pondered. She was cornered but 
by no means subdued. Justice was justice, 
and she meant to have it. Suddenly she threw 
up her head. 

“ If I can prove to you that I have a more 
thorough knowledge of French than Miss 
Laurence, will you see that this grade is 
changed to a higher standard? ” 

“ Certainly,” smirked Mr. Johnson, feeling 
secure in his certainty that Patricia could not 
possibly do anything. 

Within the next half-hour he did not feel 
so secure. . 

Patricia went into action immediately. *She 
found Mr. Bates, the principal, in his office, 
and at leisure. She stated her case simply. 

“ What is it you want me to do? ” 

Patricia smiled. She liked Mr. Bates; felt 
that he was fair. 

“ Perhaps what I am about to ask is rather 
unusual, but, under the circumstances, I think 


THE CLASS PLAY 


183 


not. Will you call Miss Laurence down here, 
have her bring the test questions she gave the 
class last month, and you ask those very ques¬ 
tions, first of her, then of me? You can 
quickly see who will grade higher. Mr. John¬ 
son might also be present.” 

Mr. Bates laughed aloud at her ingenuity. 

“ Don’t you think Miss Laurence will 
easily have the preference? She prepared 
those questions, you know.” 

“ I am willing to take that handicap.” 

Mr. Johnson and Miss Laurence were sum¬ 
moned. Mr. Bates explained the situation. 

“ I won’t submit to such an indignity,” 
flared Miss Laurence. 

‘‘ Merely trying to be just. Miss Laurence,” 
explained Mr. Bates. “ Surely you can 
answer your own questions.” 

In the tense stillness the oral examination 
began. Twice Patricia slipped on minor 
words. Miss Laurence answered glibly,—she 
had corrected several papers,—and after the 
fifth question she smiled sarcastically. There 
was only one left, and she had made not the 
slightest error, while Patricia, who spoke 


184 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


colloquial French better than class-room 
French, had made several slight mistakes. 
Then, quite suddenly, Mr. Bates shot out a 
question at Miss Laurence, speaking in 
French,—one that was not on the examination 
sheet he held. 

She gasped, paused, stammered, attempted 
to answer, then flared: “ That was not in the 
understanding.” 

Mr. Bates did not reply. He turned to 
Patricia with the same question. She an¬ 
swered quickly and correctly. 

Two more questions he put in like manner, 
with like results. He looked at Miss 
Laurence. 

“ I think, perhaps,” he said slowly, “ you 
had better pass Miss Strickland for last 
month. Have any others failed in this man¬ 
ner?” 

Much to every one’s surprise. Miss Lau¬ 
rence broke into hysterical sobs. 

“I won’t! I won’t! She doesn’t deserve 
it. She’s nothing but a snob. I won’t do it! ” 

“ My dear Miss Laurence! Surely you are 
aware that personal feeling should never enter 



THE CLASS PLAY 


185 


into the relationship between teacher and 
pupil.” 

“ But it does! It does! ” sobbed Miss Lau¬ 
rence; “and she’s been telling every one I 
don’t know enough to teach—^that I’m an idiot 
—ought not to keep my place.” 

“ Why,” gasped Patricia, “ I have never 
mentioned your name outside the school-room; 
in fact, I’m afraid I have never even thought 
of you.” 

“You have,” Miss Laurence accused; 
“ your best friend told me all the things you’ve 
been saying.” 

“My best friend! I wasn’t aware that I 
had one.” 

“ Yes—that Hunter girl! ” 

“ Joyce!! ” Strange how deeply and unex¬ 
pectedly that hurt. 

Miss Laurence paused, then decided to be 
honest. 

“No. Irma!” 

“ Oh, Irma. Well, Irma is quite mistaken. 
I have never mentioned your name to her. 
And she is decidedly not my best friend, and, 
from now on, no friend at all.” 



186 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


‘‘ If that is true, I apologize. And you are 
the best pupil in class. I’ll admit that.” 

Patricia’s victory left an unpleasant taste 
in her mouth, but at least the play need not be 
spoiled. 

Finally the big evening came. 

Outside the air was raw and chill; a few 
scudding clouds alternately revealed and hid 
distant stars. The glowing warmth, light, 
and excitement of the high-school auditorium 
was doubly welcome. Girls in fancy costumes 
fluttered here and there, seating people. All 
was chatter and general excitement. 

Behind the curtain excitement was running 
doubly high. 

‘‘ Where’s Jimmy Foster? ” 

If he’s late to-night—” 

“ Where’s my wig? ” 

Was it unpacked? ” 

The wigs and a few of the more difficult 
costumes had been rented in Minneapolis. 

Into the midst of all this burst Joyce. 

“ Oh, people, listen. The orchestra hasn’t 
come! ” 


THE CLASS PLAY 


187 


The high-school orchestra was to have fur¬ 
nished the music, but, at dress rehearsal, much 
to every one’s surprise, a full orchestra of 
eight pieces had arrived from Minneapolis. 
In the midst of the elation, relief, and excite¬ 
ment, no one had taken time to find out who 
had hired them. The chorus had gone splen¬ 
didly, in fact, it could not do otherwise with 
such support. And now, at the last minute, 
the orchestra to fail! Horrible thought! 

Thoughtlessly Patricia spoke: “ They said 
they’d be here without fail—” 

She stopped suddenly. 

“Patricia Strickland! You are the fairy 
godmother. We might have known.” 

It was true. Patricia, anxious as she never 
had been before in her life to have this thing 
succeed, had spent most of a generous month’s 
allowance to hire these men to play. 

“ I have no place else to spend it,” she had 
confided to Grandma Parsons when she gained 
her consent. 

The orchestra did arrive, in plenty of time. 
Joyce, peeping out from behind the curtain, 
was the first to see them. 


188 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ Here they are! Came in the other door. 
Hurry, everybody! It’s almost time to start.” 

She scampered to the room back of the stage 
to be ‘‘ made up ” herself. 

The curtain went up. The scene was a 
desert island, with Joyce the only person on 
it,—Joyce made extremely homely. There 
was the sound of aeroplanes, and some unex¬ 
pected voyagers arrived, among them Jimmy 
Foster, whom Joyce immediately marked for 
her own. At times the comedy of Joyce and 
Jimmy threatened to outshine the rest of the 
play, especially when Jimmy, hiding from her, 
got stuck in a barrel. This was entirely un- 
forseen, and quite unintentional. Three of 
the chorus had to leave the stage precipitately, 
affected with a bad attack of the giggles. The 
audience was convulsed, but Joyce and 
Patricia managed to keep their poise. The 
orchestra, seeing the difficulty, swung at once 
into the next song for the chorus, and saved 
the day! The curtain went down on the first 
act amid hearty applause and much laughter. 

Such scurrying, such change of costume 
before the second act. This time the scene 


THE CLASS PLAY 


189 


was Patricia’s home, and she was giving a 
garden-party in honor of Joyce, the returned 
wanderer. All the girls in the chorus looked 
truly pretty in light summer clothes and big 
picture hats, all but Joyce, who was a carica¬ 
ture of their attractiveness. 

Everything went with a vim. Patricia, eyes 
sparkling, face aglow, sang the big song of 
the evening, and it seemed as if the people 
never would stop clapping, never have enough 
encores. The play was decidedly a success, 
much better than the average junior-class 
play. 

After ever5rthing was over, Patricia, still 
glowing, walked home with Joyce and Ray 
and John Rogers. Too excited to rest, they 
all went into the Parsons’ home to pop corn 
over the grate fire, and talk over the events 
of the evening. 

Grandma and Grandfather Parsons were 
waiting up for them. 

“ Isn’t she a wonder? ” Grandfather smiled 
at her. 

You ought to hear the class rave about 
how wonderful she is.” Joyce was quick and 
generous with her praise. 


190 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Ray said nothing, but his eyes followed 
Patricia constantly. 

‘‘Humph I” spoke Grandma Parsons. 
“ Patricia wasn’t the only one on the stage.” 

Patricia turned quickly, hurt. She had 
made the play, and it was unkind of Grandma 
not to give her her due. Patricia had always 
been leader, always been petted, praised, 
looked up to because she did lead, and criti¬ 
cism, especially undeserved criticism, hurt. 
Then she saw that Grandma Parsons was 
gazing at Joyce. Joyce had been a success, 
too. Not as prominent a one as Patricia, but 
undoubtedly a success. Impulsively, quickly, 
Patricia spoke: “ I should say I wasn’t. It 

wouldn’t have been half the play without 
Joyce,—Joyce and Jimmy Foster. When he 
got stuck in that barrel in the first act, I 
really thought, for a minute, we’d have to ring 
down the curtain.” 

“ Wasn’t he funny? ” 

All four of them were off in gales of 
laughter, reliving the whole evening. 

Grandma Parsons, though she said noth¬ 
ing, seemed well satisfied. 


CHAPTER X 


THE BIG GAME 

“Oh, Patricia! ” called Joyce. 

Patricia stopped. 

“ Some of the girls are coming over to-mor¬ 
row and bring their sewing,—” Christmas holi¬ 
days had now begun,—“ won’t you come, 
too?” 

“ Why—^yes—thanks! ” Patricia answered 
slowly, and then walked slowly into her grand¬ 
mother’s house. 

She faced herself in the mirror, and gazed 
for a long time, leaning slightly forward on 
stiff arms. 

It was the first time that Joyce had asked 
her, as an individual, to come to her house. 
Naturally she had been included in the class 
parties. Now was the time to do some real 
thinking. Was she, Patricia Strickland, 
going to be a real snob, and miss a great many 
good times, as well as the friendship of a 
very fine and very popular girl, or was she 


191 


192 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

going to forget her dignity, and associate with 
the daughter of a livery-stable owner? 

Patricia had the grace to blush, and the 
mirrored eyes dropped. 

She decided to go this time, anyway. She 
had accepted, and—well, she would go this 
time. 

Joyce greeted her friends with a long face. 
Patricia was by no means the first to arrive, 
and she found the other girls in great excite¬ 
ment, all of them half giggling, half tearful; 
for Joyce, instead of her dark, thick, bobbed 
hair, was blond! Her eyes were red, as 
though from weeping. 

“ Isn’t it terrible? ” she asked Patricia, in¬ 
dicating her hair, a queer expression on her 
face. 

“ What happened? ” Patricia, generally 
so poised, was rather at a loss. Had Joyce in¬ 
tentionally dyed her hair? She didn’t appear 
to‘be the foolish kind of girl who did such 
things. Moreover, Joyce was showing no 
pride in her newly acquired blondness. 

Joyce explained. 

“ I was shampooing my hair this morning. 


THE BIG GAME 


193 


I went out of the bathroom for a minute to 
get a dry towel, and that little imp of a Bobbie 
must have dumped a whole bottle of peroxide 
in the rinse water. Do you suppose it ever 
will come in black again? ” 

Patricia looked closely. Somehow Joyce’s 
regret did not ring true. She scarcely looked 
like the same girl, so different did the yellow 
hair appear, and yet—and yet— 

Twice Joyce left the room abruptly, com¬ 
ing back with slightly teary eyes. 

“ You poor thing,” one of the girls com¬ 
miserated her. 

‘‘ I wouldn’t feel so bad, Joy! You’re 
quite a stunning blonde.” 

Patricia said nothing, but watched Joyce 
closely. 

It took Bobbie to solve the mystery, how¬ 
ever. He came racing through the rooms, 
chasing Bingo. When he saw Joyce, he 
stopped suddenly. 

‘‘ There it is I ” he exclaimed delightedly. 

‘‘ Go on out,” commanded Joyce quickly. 

‘‘ Yes, you terrible boy. Aren’t you 
ashamed of yourself?” 


194 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Puzzled, Bobbie wheeled to look at his ac¬ 
cuser. Then every one looked quickly at 
Joyce, who was now in uproarious laughter. 

Oh! It’s too good. I can’t keep it any 
longer.” 

“ She’s hysterical, I do—” One of them 
stopped a sentence, open-mouthed, for Joyce’s 
yellow curls were in her hands, and her own 
black hair still on her head. 

It was too funny,” Joyce explained amid 
the general uproar. ‘‘ Bobbie found this old 
wig up in the attic. I tried it on just before 
you came, and it looked so funny, I left it. 
Then, when each one looked so sober and sur¬ 
prised as they came in, I couldn’t resist the 
temptation. You’ve no idea how funny you 
all looked. I had to leave twice to keep from 
laughing. Here, Bobbie, take it.” 

She tossed the wig to her brother, and Bob¬ 
bie, with the yellow curls askew on his head, 
pranced from the room. Bingo barking at his 
heels. 

The ice so successfully broken, every one 
was in high spirits. If any one had felt cool 


THE BIG GAME 


195 


toward Patricia early in the afternoon, cer¬ 
tainly every one was jolly now. 

“ Who’s going to the basket-ball game, 
Friday evening? ” asked Caroline Boyd, a tall 
girl, very popular with her own class and 
with the seniors. 

“Ha! Tom must be in town,” suggested 
Amy Brooks, small and plump. 

“ What’s that got to do with my question? ” 
laughed Caroline. 

“ Where is it going to be? ” asked another. 

“ High-school gym, I guess,” answered 
Joyce. 

This gave Patricia an opening to ask a 
question that had long been bothering her. 

“Why haven’t you girls a team?” she 
asked. “ I’ve often wondered. You’re all so 
athletic, and it’s no end of fun.” 

Her suggestion was met with silence for a 
moment, then confusion broke forth. 

“ What a bully idea.” 

“Do you suppose we could?” 

“ Why didn’t we ever? ” 

“ Do you think Batesy would let us? ” 

A great hubbub followed. Patricia was 


196 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


startled at the excitement she had caused by 
her simple remark. It was not long before 
she was planning as hard as any of them, 
Joyce by far and away the most enthusiastic, 

“ And maybe we could play Benton High.” 

“We’d have to work like everything before 
we’d be ready for them.” 

“ The boys play Minneapolis Central. 
Maybe we could play the girls.” 

“ Whom could we have on the team? ” 

“ Why, Joyce, you, of course, and Francis 
Hoobs. And Patricia, you’d be on it? ” 

“ I’d love to,” Patricia was as interested as 
any one. 

“ Who’d coach us? ” 

“ I could help,” offered Patricia. “ Oh, do 
let’s do it.” 

“ Probably we could use the gym regularly 
nights.” 

“ What is all the commotion about? ” 

Irma strolled languidly into the room. 
Patricia looked up quickly at her entrance, but 
did not speak. Irma ignored her entirely. 
This was easily done in the excitement raised 


THE BIG GAME 


197 


anew by her query. Every girl was trying to 
be the first to tell her the new plan. 

“ Gracious! What a lot of work it will 
be, though! ” 

‘‘ Work! That will be fun.” 

“ Some people’s idea—” Irma did not 
finish her sentence. 

Patricia flushed slightly. 

‘‘ At least, nobody interested is lazy,” 
drawled Patricia. 

Joyce, seeing something was amiss some¬ 
where, smothered her curiosity, and remem¬ 
bered only that Patricia was her guest. She 
jumped quickly to her feet. 

“ I’m going out to make some chocolate,” 
she said. ‘‘ Who’s hungry? ” 

“ Do let me help,” cried Amy Brooks. 

‘‘What can I do, Joyce?” Caroline 
dropped her sewing. 

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Sand¬ 
wiches are all made. I’ll call when it’s ready 
to bring in.” 

Joyce had gone, leaving Irma and Patricia 
to their own devices. Before long, Irma rose 
as though bored with the other girls, and 


198 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

strolled languidly about the room. If she had 
expected Patricia to come to her side, she was 
quite mistaken. Since Patricia would not 
come with her, and since she had left the 
group, there was no alternative but for her to 
leave the room. This she did reluctantly. 

Chocolate and sandwiches were eagerly 
devoured by the half dozen hungry girls. 
Aside from a spilled cup of brown fluid which 
Bee upset over Joyce, everything was most 
successful. Reaction from this slight accident 
caused a great deal of giggling, and a merry, 
happy lot of girls started for home in the 
early winter dusk. 

Joyce detained Patricia rather shyly. 

“ Would you stay just a few minutes? I’d 
love to hear more about the basket-ball plans.” 

“ There aren’t any plans, only I do think it 
would be interesting.” 

“ Who would propose it to Mr. Bates? 

‘‘ I would,” said Patricia, if none of you 
other girls want to do it.” 

That would be great. Tell me what rules 
you played by in your school.” 

Before Patricia had finished, the front door 


THE BIG GAME 


199 


flew open with a bang, and Ray came in, 
shaking his cap. 

‘‘ Hello, Joy! ” he called. 

“ Why,” squealed Joyce, running out to 
meet him, it’s snowing. How lovely! ” 

Patricia flew to the window. 

“ So it is. How shall I ever get home? ” 

“ Home? ” Joyce looked blank. 

Patricia laughed. 

“ That does sound silly, but it seemed so 
warm I ran across without a wrap. Stupid of 
me, but—” 

‘‘ I’ll lend you a coat—” began Joyce. 

“ Never mind. She can have mine,” Ray 
interrupted quickly. Joyce looked from one 
to the other, and seeing the sparkle in 
Patricia’s eyes, said no more. 

‘‘ Thanks,” said Patricia. ‘‘ I must go right 
away, I guess. I didn’t realize it was so late.” 

She paused in the doorway, with Raoul’s 
coat about her shoulders. 

“ We’ll see about that basket-ball team just 
as soon as school starts,” she finished her con¬ 
versation with Joyce. I’ve had such a nice 
time.” And she meant it. 


200 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

She and Ray scampered like two colts 
through the thickly falling snow, saying noth¬ 
ing, but, once safe on the Parsons’ porch, 
Raoul developed courage which he had been 
working for all the way across the yard. 
“ Patricia—Miss Strickland—oh shucks! Pa¬ 
tricia, would you care to go to that basket-ball 
game Friday evening? ” 

“ I’d love it,” Patricia flashed back at him, 
and disappeared into the house, leaving him 
to walk home, unseeing, through the snow. 

Joyce, watching for him out of the window, 
gazed into the whirl of softly dropping snow¬ 
flakes. Always the first snow brought this 
feeling of sacred hush to her, filled with un¬ 
named longings, feelings she herself could not 
express. It was a sort of ritual with her, the 
first snowstorm of every year. She would 
stand many minutes alone, absorbed in her 
own feelings, just looking. Finally with a 
little sigh, she would quote to herself a few 
lines of a well-known poem: 

** The snow had begun in the gloaming 
And busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 
With a silence deep and white.*" 


THE BIG GAME 


201 


There was something exquisitely beautiful 
in those few lines, and Joyce loved best of all 
to have the snow come just at dusk. She 
stood, her forehead against the cold pane, see¬ 
ing highways and forests, fields, and tiny 
frozen brooks, all deep in soft, white snow. 
She sighed and turned to clear up the dishes 
left by the girls, to set the supper-table, to 
help in the kitchen. But that few seconds 
spent with beauty left a deep place in her 
heart. 

She needed that peace, for many things un¬ 
expected, some unpleasant, happened to Joyce 
during that one short vacation. 

To begin with, she was not asked to the 
basket-ball game. It was the big game of the 
season, the game between Minneapolis Central 
High School and Westcott. That Minneapo¬ 
lis would even condescend to play with so 
small a place as Westcott spoke well for the 
boys’ team. 

Plans were laid weeks ahead. Ray and 
Joyce had always gone together, but since 
Ray had asked Patricia, or so he believed, he 
thought Joyce would find other friends; in 


202 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


fact, John Rogers had meant to take her, but 
had gone home for over the holidays. 

So Joyce was left without an invitation. 
She refused to go with Raoul and Patricia, 
for, silly as she knew it to be, she was some¬ 
what hurt at the arrangement. She flew 
around, however, getting him ready, pressing 
his tie, seeing about a clean handkerchief, and 
even stood at the door, wistfully watching, as 
he strode away across the lawn. 

But before many minutes had passed, Raoul 
burst in through the door, his face red, and 
went straight to Joyce. 

“ Come on, hurry up,” was all he said. 

‘‘Why, Ray—where’s Patricia?” Joyce 
could not help asking that question, though 
she realized it was the wrong thing to say. 

“ She’s not going! ” 

Joyce was bursting to ask, “Why? What 
happened? She said she would.” A dozen 
remarks flashed through her mind, but she 
said nothing, only rose with alacrity and flew 
to her room. 

How clothes did fly. Joyce pulled out her 
prettiest frock. She never wore this any- 


THE BIG GAME 


203 


where except to very special parties, but she 
felt the occasion demanded it now. Her black 
locks received a hasty brushing. Hurry had 
brought warm color to her cheeks, and when 
she faced Ray again, fifteen minutes later, she 
really was pretty. Ray appreciated the fact, 
grim as his lips were. 

They reached the gym ten minutes late, the 
question of Patricia still unsolved for Joyce, 
but, in short order, both she and Raoul forgot 
their troubles in the game. 

By the time they arrived, Minneapolis 
already had two baskets and were working in 
splendid form. Poor Westcott was playing 
in hard luck. Twice the hall rose, circled the 
rim of the basket, and dropped outside, to the 
floor, only to he pounced upon promptly by 
the Minneapolis team. 

‘‘ Oh,” groaned Joyce, that would have 
made us even.” 

“Yes, but it didn’t.’ Four to nothing! 
That’s a terrible start.” 

“ Oh,” said Joyce loyally, “ that’s nothing. 
You watch.” 

Her remarks were cut short by the sound 


204 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

of the referee’s whistle. “ Minneapolis ball 
outside.” In the next minute of play Min¬ 
neapolis made another basket. 

Oh,” groaned Ray; ‘‘ six to nothing! ” 

The Westcott rooters were depressed, 
watching their team intently, silently. Then 
suddenly, unexpectedly, Westcott made two 
baskets in quick succession. 

The crowd went wild. 

“ Six to four! Six to four! Do it again, 
Jimmy! ” 

In the resulting confusion Minneapolis 
fouled, and Jimmy Foster was called to the 
line for a free shot. There was a breathless 
silence as the ball rose, teetered on the edge— 
and slid in, making the score six to five. The 
shot was so well done that even the Minneapo¬ 
lis spectators applauded. A few more min¬ 
utes of fast and furious playing, and the half 
ended with the score still six to five. 

The teams ran to their dressing-rooms amid 
wild cheering and shouting. 

There was a temporary lull, and Joyce, re¬ 
laxed from intense excitement, glanced at 
Ray. His mouth was set, he was not looking 


THE BIG GAME 


205 


at her. Joyce was curious, but still kept 
quiet. In another instant the Westcott root¬ 
ers began their calls. Minneapolis responded. 
In the general confusion several juniors ran 
up to speak to Joyce. Fortunately no one 
asked for Patricia, and the intermission passed 
quickly. In no time at all the teams were 
again on the floor, with excitement at a high 
pitch. 

All through the third quarter the score re¬ 
mained six to five. Once the ball rose in a 
beautiful curve towards the Minneapolis goal 
amid a sudden silence, but fell short by three 
inches. Joyce gave a relieved sigh as the ball 
was thrown toward the Westcott goal. Fast 
and furiously the boys played, but the teams 
were well matched, and though several at¬ 
tempts were made at baskets on each side, the 
score remained as it was. 

The last quarter!” Joyce’s cheeks were 
pinker than ever. Scarcely were the' words 
out of her mouth, than they were drowned in 
a roar. 

What happened, Ray? I didn’t see.” 

‘‘ Westcott made a basket! ” 


206 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ Goody. Goody. Seven to six! ” 

Two minutes later Minneapolis made a 
basket. 

“Eight to seven. O dear! This is terri¬ 
ble!” 

Again fast, furious playing, evenly held. 

“ Must be nearly over,” breathed Ray. 

A sudden lull. 

“Double foul! ” called the referee. 

Minneapolis, breathing hard, lined near 
their basket. There was a breathless silence 
while the forward took his place. Again the 
ball rose, hit the wall behind the basket, and 
dropped to the floor. A sigh. 

Quickly the referee picked up the ball, and 
ran to the Westcott basket. Joyce watched 
tensely, her hands cold, her breath gone. 
Slowly Jimmy Foster picked the ball up, and 
gauged the distance. Suddenly he shot. Be¬ 
fore any one could guess results, the ball had 
slipped through the basket, swishing the net 
below, as it fell. 

Wild cheering! Eight to eight! The Hall 
up in the center! Two minutes of play left! 


THE BIG GAME 


207 


Minneapolis realized this, and at once the 
ball was under their basket. 

“ Oh,” said Joyce. “ Oh, if we could only 
stop. Why doesn’t the whistle blow? ” She 
was jumping up and down now. 

A sudden struggle, a piling-up of three or 
four players, and the ball sailed in a long, slow 
arc across the hall straight into the waiting 
hands of Jimmy Foster. His guard, feeling 
secure, was at the other end of the hall. 
Slowly, surely, without any effort, Jimmy 
Foster seemingly ‘‘ dropped ” the ball into 
the basket. Before the cheering had stopped, 
the referee’s whistle blew. 

The game was ended, ten to eight, in favor 
of Westcott. 

The crowd went wild, Ray and Joyce as 
hilarious as any one. Cheer after cheer 
arose. Jimmy Foster was the hero of the 
evening. The Minneapolis team took their 
defeat bravely, and cheered for their op¬ 
ponents. Westcott, not to be outdone, 
cheered back. 

The cold night air felt grateful to Joyce’s 
burning cheeks. 


208 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Some game! ” Ray was still enthusiastic. 

“ Too bad Patricia—” Joyce stopped sud¬ 
denly. ‘‘ Why didn’t she come, Ray? ” 

“ I don’t know.” Ray’s voice was somber. 

“ Tell me what happened.” 

‘‘ I went over, rang the bell, and there she 
was, not ready at all, reading a book and 
eating candy.” 

“ ‘ Are you ready? ’ I asked. 

‘‘ ‘ What for? ’ 

“ ‘ The game, of course,’ I answered. 

“ I suppose I looked like a fool. I was be¬ 
ginning to feel like one. 

‘‘ ‘Oh. The basket-ball game. That is to¬ 
night, isn’t it? ’ 

“ ‘ It is,’ I answered. 

“ ‘ Why, Raoul, did you expect me to go 
with you? You never asked me.’ 

“ And I had asked, Joy; asked her and she 
said she’d love to. I was so surprised I 
couldn’t answer. I just turned and walked 
from the house.” 

Joyce was very thoughtful for many min¬ 
utes. 

“ I wish I knew Patricia better, Ray. 


THE BIG GAME 


209 


Sometimes she is—desperately snippy, but, 
really, she has been awfully decent lately. 
Maybe she didn’t understand—about the invi¬ 
tation, I mean. I really think she likes, you 
better than any of us.” 

“ Joy, you’re a peach. You may be right . 
about the invitation, but—” 

They swung into the Hunter home, still 
talking on the subject. Both Mr. and Mrs. 
Hunter had retired, but a low light was left 
in the hall, and a cozy fire was burning in the 
grate. 

“ Oh, Ray, how—” Joyce stopped sud¬ 
denly, then laughed a trifle shakily, “ Good¬ 
ness! You frightened me! ” 

I’m sorry.” Patricia rose from a big 
chair in front of the fire. Her eyes were 
softly shining, and her hair had golden glints. 
Ray turned his back abruptly. Patricia con¬ 
tinued speaking to Joyce. “ The room was 
alone, and just like this, so I made myself at 
home. Do you mind? ” 

“ Not at all,” Joyce’s voice was calm, 
though her heart beat fast. Patricia dropped 


210 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

her eyes. What she was about to do was not 
easy. 

“ I came over to apologize,” she said in a 
low voice, not so low but that Raoul heard. 
He swung back, his face shining with hap¬ 
piness. Patricia lifted her eyes then, and 
gazed straight at him. “ I really hadn’t 
understood that you had invited me.” With 
a sudden change in her voice, “ How did the 
game come out?” 

Immediately the strain was broken, and 
Ray and Joyce started at once into an account 
of the game. 

“ I’m so sorry you missed it, Patricia,” 
Joyce said as Raoul went to get the pop-corn 
and the shaker; “ It was a wonderful game.” 

‘‘ I’m sorry, too, but wait till we get the 
girls’ team going.” 

The three of them were still engrossed in 
this interesting subject, munching hot, crisp 
pop-corn between words, when Irma arrived. 
She came in bristling, filled with the import¬ 
ance of her evening. She did not notice the 
guest. 

“ Hello, Joyce,” she called. “ Guess whom 


THE BIG GAME 


211 


IVe been with? Celia Laurence, and the man 
she’s engaged to—nobody knows that, of 
course; and she’s going to stay here all vaca¬ 
tion instead of going home, and her fiance is 
going to bring a friend for me. He’s the best¬ 
looking thing. She was telling us,” Irma 
stopped to giggle, about a row she had at 
school. She surely came out on top, too, and, 
by the way, it was with your friend, Pa¬ 
tricia—” 

She stopped abruptly, and her mouth flew 
open, for Patricia had risen. 

“ I think I’d better be going,” she said to 
Joyce. 

“Wait!” Raoul snatched his hat. “I’ll 
go with you.” 

Irma and Joyce were finishing the pop¬ 
corn when Raoul burst again into the room. 
He was fuming. 

“ What is the matter? ” gasped Joyce. 

“ Timmie! Bobbie! One of those con¬ 
founded kids had a string on a couple of cans. 
We tripped over it. Just wait!” 

Serves you right,” cut in Irma; “ she’s an 


212 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

awful snob. Wish I could have seen her trip.’^ 

Raoul wheeled on his sister. 

“ She’s one of the finest girls I ever knew 
—” But his speech was cut short by a giggle 
from the top of the stairs. In three bounds 
he was up, and was back in no time, Timmie 
wriggling in one hand, Bobbie in the other, 
both scantily clad, Bobbie giggling and Tim¬ 
mie serious. Raoul, as he shook them both, 
winked at Joyce over their heads. 

“ Who did it? ” he asked in a severe voice. 

“Gee! - You made pop-corn,” Bobbie an¬ 
swered. Timmie was silent. 

“ Who did it? ” 

“ And I didn’t get any,” wailed Bobbie. 

Raoul was becoming really angry now. 

“ Answer me, one of you two, or I’ll have 
to report it.” 

“ Timmie did it,” gulped Bobbie. 

Timmie straightened. 

“ I didn’t do any more than you.” 

“ He did it, Ray, honest,” protested Bob¬ 
bie. 

Irma rose in disgust. 

I’m going to bed. You two always pick 


THE BIG GAME 


213 


on Bobbie. Personally I think it served her 
right.” 

Baoul was too busy with the culprits to re¬ 
tort to this final fling of Irma’s. 

‘‘ Now, then, Timmie, who did it? ” 

“ All, we both did. Bobbie suggested it, 
and I thought it would be fun, and you did 
look funny,” he giggled. 

Raoul looked again at Joyce, who was hid¬ 
ing a smile. 

“ All right, this time, you two scamps! But 
if it ever happens again— Off to bed, both 
of you.” 

After they had scampered back upstairs, 
Ray and Joyce sat before the fire for a long 
time in silence. Finally Raoul rose and 
smiled. 

“ She’s wonderful,” he said. 

Joyce did not ask whom he meant. 


CHAPTER XI 


CHRISTMAS 

‘‘ In two days,” cried Bobbie gleefully. 
‘‘ In two days! ” 

“ Then what? ” Joyce had just finished 
cleaning her room, and came whirling out just 
in time to see Timmie come sliding down 
the banisters. Bobbie, at the top, was danc¬ 
ing about on one foot, half shouting, half 
singing, while he waited his turn. Timmie, 
halfway down, gazed up at his sister with a 
sheepish expression. 

“ Oh, boys,” protested Joyce, half¬ 
heartedly, “ you know better than this. Why 
don’t you slide outdoors ? ” 

“ It’s such fun here,” insisted Bobbie. 

“ I’ll bet you used to do it yourself, Joy,” 
said Timmie, as he raced back up the stairs. 

“ What’s to happen in just two days?” 
Joyce abruptly changed the subject. 

‘‘ Santa Claus,” shouted Bobbie, as he in 
his turn whizzed down the long, smooth banis¬ 
ter. 




214 


CHRISTMAS 


215 


Timmie gazed at Joyce with understanding 
in his smile. 

“ Christmas is almost here,” he danced on 
the top step, waiting his turn, “ hope I get a 
pair of skates. Look out, Bobbie. Here I 
come.” 

“Yes, here comes Mother, too.” 

“ Boys! boys! ” Mrs. Hunter shook her 
head at them. “ You’re much to big for this 
sort of thing. If you must slide, run out¬ 
doors. There’s plenty of snow.” 

Reluctantly the two went. Mrs. Hunter 
turned to Joyce. 

“ Wonder what the excitement is over at 
the Parsons’? ” 

“ Why? What do you mean? ” 

“Was just looking out of the window when 
I saw a young girl run up the steps. I 
thought at first that it was Patricia, and I 
wondered, because I had seen her ride by a 
while ago. I looked more closely, and this 
girl wasn’t as tall as Patricia—very nice-look¬ 
ing, though.” 

Joyce shook her head. 

I don’t know, I’m sure,” 


216 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Why don’t you run over? ” suggested 
Mrs. Hunter. 

Joyce hesitated. 

“ Why—” she began, but her speech was 
cut short by the mad ringing of the telephone 
bell on the floor below. 

‘‘ O dear! Now Central will ring madly 
until I get there. I can’t hurry fast enough! ” 

Then, on sudden impulse, Joyce leaped to 
the banister and slid, leaving her mother 
scandalized and gasping on the top step. 

The call was from Grandma Parsons. 

“ This you, Joy? ” 

“ Yes, Grandma Parsons.” 

“ Are you busy? Too busy to rim over fo^ 
a minute? ” 

“I’ll be right over.” 

Joyce hung up the receiver, wondering. 
Grandma’s voice certainly sounded excited. 
Catching up a sweater, Joyce ran across the 
lawn. 

She found Grandma talking to a plump 
girl, attractively dressed in brown. 

“ Joyce,” said Grandma, “ this is Mary 
Taintor, Patricia’s best friend, come all the 


CHRISTMAS 


217 


way from New York to see her. And Pa¬ 
tricia is away on her horse. Could you find 
her, do you think? ” 

The girl rose and came over to Joyce. 

“ You’re Joy, aren’t you? I’m so glad to 
know you.” 

Joyce flushed. 

‘‘ Are you really? ” Honesty shone in her 
face. 

“ Indeed, I am. I specially asked about 
you, didn’t I, Mrs. Parsons? ” 

Mary’s sincerity was as evident as her en¬ 
thusiasm. As a rule, Joyce withdrew from 
strangers, but this girl radiated a warmth, a 
charm that enhanced everything she said or 
did. 

Joyce flushed again, but this time from far 
different cause. She had just remembered 
her slide down the banister. 

I think perhaps I can find Patricia for 
you. I’ll have Hal put the saddle on Skip. 
I don’t believe Patricia has gone far. It’s 
too cold to take a very long ride these days.” 

“ You’re an old dear to do it,” Mary 
beamed at her. 


218 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


With an unusual glow about her, Joyce ran 
home, eager to change to her knickers and be 
off on her errand. 

“No wonder every one loves Mary 
Taintor,’' she decided as she dressed. “ What 
is there about her? I wish I could be like 
that.” 

With a warm jacket on, a cap pulled close 
over her black hair, Joyce was soon running 
down the street to the stable. 

Meantime Grandma Parsons and Mary 
Taintor were becoming acquainted. 

“ Patricia tells me you are her best friend.” 
Grandma Parsons was observing Mary 
Taintor closely. 

“ Did she say that—really? ” Mary was 
undoubtedly pleased. 

“ I can’t see—even if she is my own grand¬ 
daughter—why every one should fall on their 
knees every time Patricia is mentioned. I 
even look sometimes to see if people aren’t 
actually crawling about at her feet.” 

Mary smiled. 

“ I never thought of it before, but every 
one does act that way with Patricia, at least 


CHRISTMAS 


219 


the girls at school always have. I suppose it 
is because she is so—so—like a fairy princess. 
She is beautiful, you know, and—” 

‘‘ And spoiled,” interrupted Grandma Par¬ 
sons. 

“ Yes, I suppose we do spoil her. Can’t 
help ourselves. But from the letters I’ve had 
I should judge that people here weren’t 
exactly—groveling.” 

Grandma smiled grimly. 

“ I think you may find Patricia changed.” 

“Improved?” asked Mary with a little 
smile. 

“ That you must judge for yourself. But 
here I’ve been talking to you as though you 
were my own age—and not Patricia’s.” 

“ People always do,” acknowledged Mary. 

Grandma looked at her searchingly, but 
before she could reply the door burst open, 
and Patricia came running into the house 
breathlessly. 

“ You dear thing,”—she embraced Mary,— 
“ you’ve no idea how glad I am to see you. 
Come up to my room. I’ve a thousand things 
to talk over with you.” 


220 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“Where’s Joy?” Grandma interrupted 
their chatter to ask. 

“ Why—she took Challenge back to the 
stable.” 

Grandma Parsons looked at her keenly. 
Patricia flushed. 

“ She offered—and I thought you wouldn’t 
mind.” 

“ All right,” Grandma nodded, “ that was 
like Joy.” 

“ She’s a dear; I like her.” Mary linked 
her arm in Patricia’s as they started up the 
wide stairs. 

“ She’s all right,” Patricia answered, ‘‘ but 
do tell me all about Harriet and Betty? Is 
Hodge-Podge still there? How did the new 
class turn out? And they elected Janet 
Orton president of our class. I never 
thought—” Patricia’s door closed on the end 
of that sentence. 

Grandma Parsons walked slowly to the 
fireplace, and gazed into the dancing flames. 

“ I wonder,” she mused aloud, “ if Mary 
Taintor’s visit is going to be a good thing for 


CHRISTMAS 


221 


Patricia, or if it will undo all the good we have 
done.” 

When the girls came down an hour or so 
later, Mary was preparing to go. 

“ Go? ” Grandma looked blank. “ Surely 
not back to New York? ” 

Mary laughed* gayly, and smiled into 
Grandma’s wise old eyes. 

“ I did give that impression, didn’t I ? I 
mean, as though I had just dashed in direct 
from New York, but, you see. Mother and 
Dad are in Minneapolis; Dad had to come 
on business—had to be away over Christmas, 
and Mother wouldn’t let him spend Christmas 
alone. I knew it would be a wonderful 
chance to see Patricia. We’ll probably be 
there a week or so.” 

After Mary had left, Patricia walked to the 
fireplace, and sat down near her grand¬ 
mother. She took one of Grandma Parsons’ 
hands in her own, a very unusual proceeding 
for Patricia. 

‘‘ I am going to ask you a favor.” 

“ Yes?” 


‘‘ Can we—^may we—^have Mary and her 



222 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


mother and father over for Christmas dinner? 
It will be lonesome for them, over there in a 
hotel, and I’d love them to meet you and 
Grandfather.” 

Grandma pondered. 

“ Well,” she said finally, “ I should be very 
happy to have them, if what we can offer will 
be good enough for them.” 

Patricia looked at her in astonishment. 

‘‘ Good enough? Everything you have is 
of the very best.” 

“ But we do not use Haviland china every 
day, nor do we have maidservants nor men- 
servants. Quite likely I shall have to prepare 
half of the dinner myself.” 

“ You dear old goose,” Patricia squeezed 
her hand, “ they’d love you—^just because 
you’re you. They do have loads of servants 
at home, they have to there, everybody does, 
but Mary and her family have sense! ” 

Grandma looked at Patricia a little startled. 
Not much snobbery to that remark. Perhaps, 
after all, Mary’s visit was going to be a help. 

“ Then, by all means, ask them,” Grandma 
assented cordially. 


CHRISTMAS 


223 


‘‘ You old dear,” Patricia kissed her quickly, 
and ran from the room, “ I’ll write at once.” 

‘‘ Better ’phone,” suggested Grandma. 

‘‘ That would be a good idea. I’ll do it 
this evening. Now I must rush up and finish 
my presents. Isn’t Mary a duck? ” 

“ I like her,” Grandma replied guardedly, 
but Patricia was wise enough to know that 
that was better than extravagant praise from 
most people. 

The day before Christmas was filled with 
little flurries of snow and big flurries of excite¬ 
ment. Joyce was up early, flying about the 
house, doing various things. The housework 
must be done quickly in order to give time for 
the wrapping and delivering of many pres¬ 
ents, for Joyce had many friends, and each 
one of them, even down to Old Hal, must 
have at least some small gift. 

She pounded hastily on Irma’s door. 

“ Get up,” she called; “ breakfast is ready, 
and there’s heaps to be done.” 

“ Oh, Joyce,” Irma answered plaintively, 
“ I’ve just dropped asleep. I’ve been awake 
all night with a headache.” 


224 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Anger flared in Joyce for a minute, then 
she controlled it and laughed. 

“I do think, Irma, that a little fresh air 
might help you. But if you want to sleep 
late. I’ll leave the beds and dishes for you to 
do.” 

Even before Joyce reached the top of the 
stairs she heard Irma moving about. 

All day Joyce was busy, delivering pres¬ 
ents, tacking up holly, decorating the large, 
cheery living-room, doing a thousand things 
for the next day. She and Raoul had been 
asked to the Parsons’ for Christmas dinner, 
much to Irma’s disgust, since she herself was 
not included. But Joyce had decided, and 
Raoul agreed, that they would rather eat din¬ 
ner with their mother and father, and spend 
the afternoon with Mr. and Mrs. Parsons. 
So it was settled. All the presents that had 
come to the Hunters on the day before Christ¬ 
mas had been left unopened in a pile before 
the fireplace. Inside the fireplace huge sticks 
were placed for lighting in the early morning, 
for the Hunters kept the opening of their gifts 
until Christmas morning. 


CHRISTMAS 


225 


It was almost midnight when Joyce 
tumbled, exhausted, into bed, and fell im¬ 
mediately into deep sleep. It seemed less 
than five minutes that she felt Bobbie tugging 
at her. His eyes were wide and shining, his 
voice hushed. 

Hurry, Joy, hurry. Santa’s been here.” 

Early as it was, the whole family soon 
gathered around the fireplace, lit now with 
roaring flames. What merriment, what hap¬ 
piness in the early Christmas dawn! Bobbie 
and Timmie delivered packages, taking a 
minute off now and then to see what they 
themselves had received, Irma received a 
new comb, covered with shining rhinestones, 
Joyce several books and a camera which she 
had long wanted, Raoul received his first silk 
shirt, Timmie his skates, and Bobbie a mixture 
of toys and games which delighted his heart. 
There were many other things, too numerous 
to mention. A rosy, happy family sat down 
to a belated breakfast. 

Then there was a lull while Bobbie tod 
Timmie played with their new toys, and Mrs. 
Hunter, Joyce, and even Irma hustled around 


226 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


the kitchen, preparing the huge Christmas 
dinner. There was to be turkey, cranberry 
sauce, plum pudding, everything that every 
one liked best. Such simmering and cooking, 
such wonderful, savory odors as arose from 
the kitchen that sunny, cold day! 

Irma had been sulky at first, since she had 
not been included by Patricia, but Mrs. Hun¬ 
ter had suggested having Miss Laurence, her 
fiance, and his friend in later in the after¬ 
noon to eat cold turkey. Irma had been well 
satisfied with this arrangement. 

“ Nothing but a hen party you’re going to,” 
she had said to Joyce. 

‘‘ Raoul will be there.” 

“ Raoul! He’s nothing but your brother.” 

“ And the dearest boy that ever lived,” 
added Joyce. 

‘‘ Humph! ” Irma turned back to her task 
of preparing dressing for the turkey. 

At last the dinner was on the table, the 
turkey, most important of all, steaming brown 
and luscious on a huge platter. 

“ Seems to me we do nothing but eat,” said 
Timmie as he eagerly took his place. 


CHRISTMAS 


227 


“ You mean you do nothing but eat,” teased 
Raoul. 

“You do you share,” retorted Timmie. 

The meal was delicious, and they all ate as 
much as they wanted, and more. Joyce 
sighed and pushed back her chair. 

“ Come on, let’s get the dishes done.” 

“ Irma and I will do them. You run 
along,” said Mrs. Hunter. 

Joyce looked doubtful. 

“ There’s quite a lot of them.” 

“ I’ll wipe and Timmie can put them away,” 
said Irma. 

“ Raoul,” said Mr. Hunter, “ I wonder if 
you would go down to the stable and relieve 
Old Hal for a couple of hours.” 

Raoul’s disappointment showed in his face, 
but he said nothing. Joyce spoke. 

“ Oh, Dad, we were going over to Par¬ 
sons’.” 

“ It won’t be long. Hal needs to have 
some dinner.” 

So it happened that Joyce went alone to 
meet Mary Taintor’s mother and father. In 


228 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

them Joyce sensed real charm. At once she 
fell in love with Mrs. Taintor. 

“ Where is Ray? ” asked Patricia. 

Joyce flushed and hesitated. 

“ He had to go to the barns for a while.” 

‘‘ Oh! ” Patricia flushed, too. 

At once loyalty rose in Joyce, loyalty and 
shame that she had even hesitated. She ex¬ 
plained the situation, and was happy to see 
approval on all faces. 

The afternoon passed quickly and happily 
with singing and talking. When Raoul ar¬ 
rived he had a double sleigh, drawn by horses 
gay with sleigh-bells. Huge fur robes were 
piled in the seats, and the young people 
started for a ride. The air was cold and 
bracing. Joyce and Mary, tucked deep in 
robes in the back seat, were rapidly becoming 
fast friends. Patricia sat in front and chat¬ 
tered her gayest, admiring the way Ray 
handled the two prancing bays. 

Then they drove home again, cold and hun¬ 
gry to a hot lunch. Every one was regretful 
when the Taint or s had to leave. 

“ In return for this lovely, lovely day,” said 


CHRISTMAS 


229 


Mary “ I wan’t you all to come and have din¬ 
ner in Minneapolis with us,—you, Patricia, 
your grandmother and grandfather, Joyce 
and her brother, and is there any one else we 
might ask?” She smiled at Joyce. 

“ We might include John Rogers,” teased 
Patricia. 

Joyce knew she was expected to blush, but 
she did not feel at all that way about it. 

Yes,” she said, I’d like that. John’s a 
fine chap.” 

Who is John Rogers? ” inquired Mary. 

‘‘ A friend of Raoul’s,” explained Joyce. 

‘‘ And Joyce’s,” added Patricia. 

“ Most decidedly include Mr. Rogers,” 
spoke up Mrs. Taintor. “ Now we must be 
going, Mary, we really must.” Turning to 
Grandma, she added, “ And truly I don’t 
know when I’ve had such a lovely day, such a 
truly happy one.” She bent and suddenly 
kissed Grandma’s cheek. Perhaps I 
shouldn’t do that, but, somehow, I couldn’t 
help it, and I’m not sorry.” 

Neither am I,” beamed Grandma. Do 


230 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

try to get over again, before you leave, all of 
you.” 

“ Thank you, we will. Good-by, good-by.” 

Joyce sighed. 

“ It has been wonderful. I’m so glad I 
met them. Good-night every one.” 

Soon both houses had settled to darkness 
and sleep. 

Two days later, much to Irma’s disgust, 
Raoul, John Rogers, Patricia and Joyce went 
to Minneapolis for their promised dinner¬ 
party with Mary. 

She met them in the lobby of the hotel. Pa¬ 
tricia, dressed in a simple gown of dark grey, 
wore a fur coat, simply cut, beautifully made. 
Joyce’s dress was simple, also. She was glad 
she had worn this, and not her ‘‘ best ” one. 
Her coat of cloth was neat and warm, though 
not modish, but her youth and vividness made 
up for any lack in the richness of her costume. 
Mary was unfeignedly glad to see both girls, 
and if Joyce felt at all self-conscious at first, 
she soon lost all embarrassment in the warmth 
of Mary’s friendliness. 


CHRISTMAS 


231 


“ Come up to the room, all of you. Mother 
and Dad are waiting—and about starved.” 

“ Starved! Not half so hungry as we are,” 
replied Raoul in a heartfelt manner. Every 
one laughed heartily. 

“ Yes,” said John Rogers, “ I had to sup¬ 
port him as we came up the steps.” 

The boys were immaculate in well-brushed 
suits. 

Then perhaps we needn’t trouble to go 
up,” said Mary; “ I’ll ’phone them to come 
down.” 

Joyce watched her, as, with easy assurance, 
she approached the hotel desk and gave an 
order. 

Mr. and Mrs. Taintor must have been wait¬ 
ing for just such a summons, for in no time at 
all they joined the group of young people, 
and led the way to the dining-room. 

Their table, in a secluded corner, had been 
specially decorated with a centerpiece of roses 
and lit by candle-light. Joyce’s eyes shone. 
For a minute she felt again constrained as 
they were all seated, but the easy cordiality of 
the Taintors, and even of Patricia, soon put 


232 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


her at her ease. Presently every one was 
laughing and talking, Mr. and Mrs. Taintor 
leading in the conversation. Even when 
Joyce upset half a glass of water, it seemed 
more an incident for hilarity than for un¬ 
pleasantness. 

After dinner taxis were called, and every 
one jumped in. Mr. and Mrs. Taintor led in 
the first one, and the young folks followed in 
the second. They all drew up in front of the 
theatre, and soon were enjoying a merry little 
comedy, popular everywhere that season. 

As they left the theatre, Raoul discovered it 
was almost time for the Westcott train to 
leave, so, with hurried good-bys and apprecia¬ 
tion of such a lovely time, Patricia, Raoul, 
Joyce, and John Rogers left the Taintors and 
ran for the depot. 


CHAPTER XII 


PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 

“ TiNG-a-ling-a-ling.” The telephone rang 
madly. 

Joyce, halfway out the front door, on her 
way to school, paused. She was late as it was, 
and if she stopped to answer that ring— 

“ Ting-a-ling-brrr ” went the phone. 

“ Mother,” called Joyce. 

No response. 

‘‘ O dear! ” Joyce dropped her books on the 
floor and ran back to the phone. 

“ Hello! Hello! Yes ? Who is it ? ” Joyce’s 
voice was hurried and impatient. 

‘‘ That you, Joyce? What luck! Thought 
you’d be in school,” John Rogers’ voice came 
over the telephone. 

‘‘ I ought to be,” Joyce’s voice was still 
testy. 

“ Why aren’t you? ” 

“Because I’m listening to you, silly!” 
Joyce was thoroughly exasperated. 

“ Oh! I just called up to see if you and Ray 


233 


234 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


and your friend wanted to go on a skiing party 
Saturday? ’’ 

Joyce melted at once. 

“ That would be loads of fun, John. We 
can come here for supper afterward. But, 
say, I wonder if Patricia has skiis? ” 

“ I guess I can borrow a pair.” 

“ That will be fine. See you then.” 

Hurriedly Joyce hung up, picked up her 
books, and was off, fleet-footed, down the 
street. 

But this was a day of mishaps for her. In 
her hurry she forgot about the slippery place 
in front of the Baptist church. ^There was a 
slight incline there, and all the younger chil¬ 
dren on their way to and from school had 
paused for a nice, long slide. Usually Joyce 
avoided this, but in her rush and excitement 
she forgot it until her feet touched the 
slippery place. She remembered then, but it 
was too late. Her feet slid out from under 
her, her books flew in every direction, and she 
sprawled in an ungainly position, her hat over 
one eye. Too disgusted to get up, she sat just 


PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 235 

as she was for a minute. Behind her she 
heard a clear laugh. 

Patricia ran up. “ Oh, Joyce, forgive me 
for laughing. I know it’s late. I’ve been 
running all the way, too, but you do look so 
funny.” 

Again her silvery laugh rang out. This 
time Joyce joined her, though she really 
wanted to be cross. She got up and gathered 
her books, shaking snow from them as she 
did so. 

“ It is late. We’ll have to run for all we’re 
worth.” 

The two girls raced down the last block, up 
the high-school steps, paused just long enough 
to drop cloaks on the coat-room floor, and hur¬ 
ried into the Assembly Room, smoothing their 
hair. Still they were three minutes late. 

Mr. Johnson was speaking, but he stopped 
immediately when he saw the two girls, and in 
a blank silence let them walk the entire dis¬ 
tance to their seats. 

To Joyce’s ears her heels had never sounded 
so loud. She blushed self-consciously. But 
Patricia tossed her head, her eyes snapped fire. 


236 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

and with a disdainful smile she slowed her 
steps, and was as exasperatingly slow as she 
knew how to be in reaching her place. 

When the girls were finally seated, Mr. 
Johnson resumed his remarks. He ended 
with a little speech on tardiness. 

Joyce was miserable. Just as she and Pa¬ 
tricia had really become friends! Would this 
spoil it all again? Joyce decided it was her 
own fault. No, it wasn’t, it was John Rogers’ 
fault, good, well-meaning John Rogers. 
Joyce liked him in a friendly way, and yet, at 
times, some such occurrence as this would 
make her feel a deep sense of disgust. John 
meant well, though. That was just it. He 
“ meant well.” Joyce shrugged her shoulders 
and wished she might never see him again. 
Yet Ray was fond of him, and if he was Ray’s 
friend, she would be pleasant to him, only- 
well, she would remember he meant well. 

She need not have worried about Patricia, 
for every time the girls met all morning, Pa¬ 
tricia’s face would be lighted with a smile. 

“ You’ve no idea how funny you looked.” 
Several times she laughed aloud. At last 


PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 237 

Joyce retorted, “ If you don’t stop, I’m going 
in after school and tell Grandma Parsons on 
you.” 

‘‘ Do,” said Patricia. ‘‘ Nothing would 
please her more, only I do wish she might have 
seen you.” 

Joyce was forced to join in her laughter at 
that. 

‘‘ But not to-night,” added Patricia. 

Joyce looked surprised. 

“Why not?” 

“ Have you forgotten? ” 

Joyce nodded. “ I certainly have.” 

“ Basket-ball practice,” explained Patricia. 

After school there was a mad rush of girls 
up to the gymnasium. Patricia had asked 
Mr. Bates for the use of this three days a 
week, and, to every one’s surprise, the request 
had been granted, so now the girls were tak¬ 
ing advantage of the opportunity. Nearly 
thirty of them stood around Miss Hanson, the 
coach. 

“ Have any of you ever played? ” she asked. 

“ No,” chorused several, “ but we know a 


238 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


good deal about the game from watching the 
boys.” 

“ But girls’ rules are different. Isn’t that 
so, Miss Hanson? ” asked Patricia. 

“ Let’s play according to boys’ rules.” 

A heated discussion followed, but decision 
finally rested on girls’ rules. 

“ Because,” Joyce capped it all by saying, 
“ if we do play outside teams, I suppose they 
will all play according to girls’ rules.” 

“That’s settled. Now, let’s see! Until 
we can try out, I’m going to appoint three 
captains, and let ten girls go on a side, making 
three teams to start with. Joyce Hunter, you 
take team one; Patricia Strickland, team two; 
and Marie Sterling, team three.” 

“ May I make a suggestion? ” asked Joyce. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Wouldn’t it be better for Patricia to have 
team one. She knows more about the game 
than I do.” 

“ Oh, this is just a temporary arrangement 
—a try-out. Now each of you girls choose 
quickly, one after another.” 

That was soon accomplished. 


PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 


23D 


Now, if we only had some way—” the 
coach looked around. “ Team one, tie your 
handkerchiefs around your arm—arms rather; 
team two, beg, borrow, or steal red ties 
from the others; and team three can go with¬ 
out any mark. Now, all set? I’ll call the 
line-up. Teams one and two take the floor 
for ten minutes first, then teams two and 
three, then teams one and three. Ready? ” 

So it happened that Joyce and Patricia 
faced each other when the whistle blew. Eyes 
sparkling, smiles flashing, good-natured and 
excited, nevertheless the girls did real work 
in that ten minutes. In fact, so eagerly did 
every one enter into the practice that when the 
coach blew her whistle and announced that it 
was a quarter to six, no one believed it possible. 

“ That’s all for this afternoon. Hurry and 
change, girls. We are terribly late now. 
Practice again on Thursday.” 

Highly elated, Joyce rushed home to help 
with supper. 

Saturday proved to be a clear, cold day, 
invigorating in its fresh air, its blue sky, its 
sparkling snow. 


240 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Joyce put on her moccasins, a short skirt, a 
mackinaw, and a tight little cap. While she 
was dressing, Irma wandered into her room. 

“ Hello,” she said. ‘‘ Where are you go- 
mg? 

“ Skiing.” 

“ Hoes your friend Patricia ski? ” Irma’s 
voice was unkind. Joyce whirled. ‘‘ If she 
doesn’t, she’ll learn,” she announced, trying 
to keep down her temper. 

‘‘ I suppose you think you’re all coming 
back here for supper? ” 

“ We might,” said Joyce; it’s always open 
house on Saturday nights.” 

“ Well, you’ll wish you hadn’t.” 

Irma flung from the room, and Joyce con¬ 
tinued dressing, trying hard not to let her 
temper get the upper hand. Why did Irma 
act like this? She never used to be so hor¬ 
rid. Of course, Joyce did not always agree 
with her; in fact, they had always been such 
different natures that disagreements were fre¬ 
quent. Joyce realized that Irma had some 
faults, but she realized that she herself prob- 
alfly had just as many. But lately Irma had 


PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 


241 


been most unkind. Joyce was still pondering 
this when a whistle sounded below the win¬ 
dow. 

“ Oh, there they are! And I’m not ready 
yet.” Joyce was struggling into her clothes. 

Irma ran past her door. ‘‘ I’ll tell them 
you’ll be down in a minute,” she said. 

There it was again. Irma could be so nice 
and sweet. However, Joyce had little time 
to think about Irma, for Patricia, John 
Rogers, and Raoul were all waiting for her. 

“ Come in,” she called from the front door, 
‘‘ I’ll get my skis in a minute.” 

‘‘ It’s too hot inside with all these clothes,” 
said Patricia. 

‘‘ I have your skis,” called Ray. 

‘‘ Just a minute then.” 

Joyce ran gayly out. Bingo capering about 
her heels. 

Ray groaned. Are you going to take 
him? ” pointing to the dog. 

“ Of course,” answered Joyce. 

‘‘ Oh, yes, do,” said Patricia, who was fond 
of dogs of any kind. So Bingo was allowed 


242 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

to go. None of the four noticed Irma look¬ 
ing out of the front window, a resentful ex¬ 
pression on her face. 

“ Where shall we go? ” asked Joyce. 

“ I know—Hobson’s Hill.” 

“ That’s pretty steep, Ray, isn’t it? ” asked 
Joyce. 

“ Not so very. It’s long, but gradual.” 

“ But Patricia has never skied.” 

“ I’ll bet Patricia won’t fall as often as you 
do.” 

“ All right. Let’s try Hobson’s Hill.” 

The day was cold, but not too cold, a brac¬ 
ing January afternoon. The sky of cobalt 
blue was a glorious contrast to the covering 
of white snow stretching in every direction. 

Patricia tried to roll the snow into balls, 
but it was too dry and crumbly. 

“ Just right for skiing. We couldn’t have 
picked a better day.” Raoul walked along 
with Patricia’s skiis over his shoulder. 

“ I do wish you’d let me carry my own,” 
protested Patricia; ‘‘ Joyce does.” 

“ It’s quite a walk to Hobson’s Hill. I 
don’t want you tired before you get there.” 


PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 243 

Why don’t we walk on the skis ? ” 

‘‘ It’s pretty hard work unless you know 
just how. We’ll try it when we get out in 
the country, though.” 

Bingo dashed suddenly ahead, nearly up¬ 
setting Raoul, with Joyce in hot pursuit. The 
other three stopped and laughed at the antics 
of Joyce and the dog. The chase was short 
but strenuous. 

‘‘ He had one of my mittens,” explained 
Joyce, returning breathless, hearing aloft the 
prize. “ And my hands are almost frozen. 
Bad dog.” 

Bingo scampered about her feet joyously, 
all but laughing at the prank he had played. 

At last Hobson’s Hill was reached. This 
was really no hill, but a field, used in summer¬ 
time for wheat. A long and not too gentle 
slope reached from a belt of woods clear to the 
shore of a little lake, unbroken by fences, 
stumps, or trees. This stretch of white, 
smooth snow was ideal for skiing. 

“ That doesn’t look steep,” said Patricia. 

“ Wait till you get to the top,” sagely an¬ 
swered Joyce. 


244 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Skis were strapped on, and Ray, standing 
straight and tall, leaning forward slightly to 
keep his balance, broke the first track. He 
started slowly and gently, but after a few 
yards he gained momentum. By the time he 
had reached the foot of the slope he was mov¬ 
ing very swiftly but still smoothly. On to the 
lake he shot, and with a graceful turn finished 
his slide, still standing. He waved to the 
others, and started back up the hill. 

Meantime John Rogers had started. He, 
too, stood straight until he reached the lake, 
but there mishap overtook him, and he 
sprawled his length in the soft snow. Pa¬ 
tricia and Joyce shrieked with laughter. 

“ Now watch me,” said Joyce. But before 
she had even a fair start. Bingo, with much 
gusto, rushed upon her. Joyce struggled, 
swayed, staggered, and went down in a heap. 
In two seconds she was up, spitting snow and 
wrath. 

“ Wait till I catch Bingo.” 

You would bring him.” Raoul was up 
again. He pointed at the dog. 


PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 


245 


Patricia was convulsed with laughter, in 
which Joyce suddenly joined. 

‘‘ If we’re to have any sport, we’ll have to 
tie Bingo.” 

“ All right, you do it while I start Patricia.” 
Patricia paused, her skis set straight in the 
tracks Ray had made. 

‘‘ It does look lots steeper from here,” she 
confessed. 

“ Try it,” teased Ray; you’ll never reach 
the bottom, anyway.” 

“ Just for that,” retorted Patricia. 

She started her skis. The sensation was 
peculiar—^her feet seemed bound to keep 
ahead of her body. The more she leaned for¬ 
ward, the worse it seemed. Then a most 
peculiar thing happened. She toed in with 
her left foot, her skis crossed, and, before she 
knew what had happened, she was in a heap in 
the snow. She looked around. Every one 
was laughing. Patricia joined in heartily, as 
Ray ran to pick her up. 

“ Good for you,” he said. That’s the way 
to do it. You really went quite far.” 

‘‘ How do you keep them straight? ” asked 


246 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

Patricia as she shook the snow from her 
clothes. 

Ray shook his head. 

“ One of the tricks of the game. You’ll 
soon learn. Come on back and try it again.” 

“ Out of the way,” Joyce flashed by them, 
undisturbed this time by Bingo. She reached 
the bottom in safety, but knew better than 
to attempt a turn. 

“ Oh, but that is fun! ” she exclaimed 
breathlessly as she hauled her skis back up 
the hill. 

The afternoon sped. Tumbles were plenti¬ 
ful, but so was good-nature. Patricia really 
advanced quite a distance on the road of 
knowledge, and twice reached the bottom with¬ 
out falling. At last Joyce pointed to the sun. 
It was setting in the west, the sky a mass of 
red and molten gold. 

“ We’ll have to leave if we’re going to get 
home before dark.” 

Patricia slumped. 

“ I’ve got to rest about flve minutes.” 

‘‘ It is strenuous work. Hope you’re not 
overtired.” 



The more she leaned forward, the worse it seemed.— Page 245. 















PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 247 

I’ll be all right in a minute.” 

Joyce untied Bingo, and she and John 
Rogers romped with him until Patricia was 
ready to start. 

At last they reached the Hunter home. 

“ You both come in and stay for supper. 
I’ll make muffins,” invited Joyce. 

“ That sounds good. I’m starved.” 

“ Wonder if I hadn’t better run across and 
tell Grandma. You know she never worries, 
but—” Patricia flashed Joyce a smile. 

“ All right. Hurry. I’ll go in and start 
things.” 

They found the dining-room already occu¬ 
pied. Irma had sulked half the afternoon, 
then Celia Laurence had called. 

“ What are you doing, Irma? ” 

“ Nothing. Come on over.” 

“ Who’s there? ” 

“No one. I’m alone. Bring the boys, 
too.” 

After a consultation at the other end of the 
line, Celia Laurence had replied: “ All right. 
We’ll be over in half an hour. Shall we 
bring Tom? ” 


248 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Of course.” Then a sudden thought 
struck Irma: “ Stay for supper.” 

“I’ll show these youngsters,” Irma said as 
she turned from the telephone, a peculiar 
smile on her face. 

So Joyce found herself forestalled when 
she reached home. 

“ Hello, every one,” she called cheerfully. 
“ Nearly through? ” 

“ No, just started,” Irma’s voice had an 
edge to it. 

“Odear! We’re almost starved. I’ll start 
the muffins. You’ll probably be through by 
the time we’re ready.” 

Hurriedly Joyce slipped into a different 
dress, donned a big apron, and went to the 
kitchen. The boys followed her, offering to 
help. So it happened that when Patricia, 
alone, came laughing into the house, no one 
greeted her. Hearing a noise in the dining¬ 
room, she naturally thought it was Joyce. 

“Hello. Here I am.” She paused in the 
doorway. Absolute silence greeted her. The 
atmosphere was icy. The two young men 
attempted some sort of a remark, and failed. 


PATRICIA LEARNS TO SKI 


249 


“ Pardon me,” Patricia was suddenly 
thrown on her dignity. 

She had long been on unfriendly terms with 
Miss Laurence, and Irma was retaliating for 
fancied slights. 

“ Something you wish? ” Irma spoke as 
though Patricia were a complete stranger. 

‘‘ Where is Joyce? ” 

“ Oh,” Irma flung up her head. “ You are 
to eat in the kitchen.” 

Her manner was a direct insult. Celia 
Laurence snickered, while Patricia’s face 
flushed scarlet. 

“ Thanks. I sha’n’t stay.” 

She rushed from the house. 

A few minutes later Joyce came from the 
kitchen. 

“Where’s Patricia? Any one seen Pa¬ 
tricia? ” 

“ Oh, yes.” Irma’s voice shook, though she 
tried to be calm and indifferent. “ She ran 
in. Said to tell you she had decided not to 
stay and eat with you this evening.” 

“ She was terribly snippy about it,” added 
Celia Laurence. 


250 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Slowly Joyce turned from the door back 
to the kitchen. The sparkle had left her face, 
the glow had gone from her cheeks. 

“ What’s wrong? ” asked Ray. 

‘‘Nothing,” Joyce looked soberly at him; 
“ Patricia isn’t coming.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 

At the next basket-ball practice Joyce and 
Patricia faced one another silently. No word 
had passed between them since the previous 
Saturday. Joyce, hurt, and not knowing what 
really had happened on that evening, felt that 
Patricia owed her an apology. Patricia, on 
the other hand, felt that she had been insulted, 
and that if any apology was forthcoming, it 
should be from some member of the Hunter 
family. So, silently, the two girls faced one 
another in the center of the basket-ball floor. 

The ball was tossed, the whistle blown, and 
Joyce, the quicker of the two, knocked the 
ball beyond Patricia’s head. The play was 
fast and furious for a few minutes, and then 
Joyce’s side made a basket. 

Back to center, and this time Patricia, taller 
than Joyce, knocked the ball, but again 
Joyce’s side made a basket. When the first 
fifteen minutes of play was nearly up, Joyce’s 


251 


252 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


side had made five baskets, and Patricia’s side 
none. 

Again the ball was back at center. Pa¬ 
tricia stood straight and tall, on tiptoe to get 
first chance at the ball. Her face was set in 
determination for just one basket. Humility 
was not her role. Joyce, elated, though she 
realized that that was poor sportsmanship, 
tried to play fair, not to gloat over the situa¬ 
tion. The feeling was tense. 

The whistle blew, and the ball rose in the 
air. Joyce made a cat-like spring, but she 
miscalculated Patricia’s movements. There 
was a thud, the ball dropped to the ground un¬ 
touched, and Patricia sat down unexpectedly 
and very awkwardly. In two seconds the 
girls surrounded her. 

“ Keep back,” Miss Hanson kept warning 
them; but, unheeding, they crowded closer. 
Patricia’s eyes were half closed, and her hands 
were holding her head. 

“ Oh,” cried Joyce contritely, “ I’m so 
sorry. I didn’t mean to, really. It was an 
accident. However did it happen? ” 

Patricia did not answer. Instead, she 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 


253 


swayed to one side. Joyce caught her as she 
went. 

“ Girls,” she pleaded, ‘‘ please, please get 
back.” 

Reluctantly they obeyed. Miss Hanson 
rubbed Patricia’s hands. They stretched her 
out, her head in Joyce’s lap, while some one 
brought a handkerchief soaked in cold water. 

In a very short while Patricia opened her 
eyes, and smiled faintly. 

“ I’m all right,” she said. “ What hap¬ 
pened? ” 

‘‘ Oh,” Joyce was almost crying now, “ I 
must have knocked you when I jumped. 
Where did I hit you? ” 

“ Guess—on the—chin.” 

“ I’m so sorry.” 

“ Probably my own fault,” Patricia sat up 
and looked around dazedly. “ I think I can 
play again now.” 

“ Do you think you’d better? ” The coach 
was anxious. 

‘‘ Oh, yes. Really, I feel all right.” 

Patricia took her place. Admiration shone 
in Joyce’s face. She turned: ‘‘Come on, 



254 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


girls, three cheers for Patricia Strickland.” 

Promptly and enthusiastically the cheers 
rang out. Buoyed up by this enthusiasm, Pa¬ 
tricia was soon playing again, as well as ever. 
By the time her turn was over she had evened 
the score against Joyce. 

The two girls walked home together, talk¬ 
ing casually of events of interest, but not once 
touching upon the matter that was between 
them most vividly. 

They parted at the entrance to Parsons 
house. Patricia said good-by pleasantly 
enough, but Joyce went on, feeling unsatisfied 
somehow. 

While she was doing the supper dishes, the 
telephone rang. Grandma Parsons’ voice 
sounded through the receiver. 

“Joy, dear, how are you? ” 

“ I’m just fine, Grandma Parsons.” 

“ I haven’t seen much of you lately.” 

“ I’ve been pretty busy. Bobbie hops in 
quite often, doesn’t he? ” 

“ Quite,” laughed Grandma Parsons. “ We 
couldn’t get along without Bobbie. What I 
wanted, Joyce, is this. Patricia’s friend, Mary 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 265 

Taintor, is still in Minneapolis. She is com¬ 
ing over to spend Saturday and Sunday be¬ 
fore she goes back to New York. Patricia 
wanted to do something for her, something 
different. Have you any suggestions? ’’ 

“ Let me think,” Joyce pondered. “ Oh, I 
know. Grandma Parsons. I believe she’d 
like a regular, old-fashioned bob-sled ride. 
We used to go in hayracks, but Ray and I 
found it much more exciting to hitch a bob¬ 
sled to a horse and ride around. Ask Patricia 
what she thinks of it.” 

“ Just a minute; ” then, “ She approves. 
Says she’ll tell Mary to bring some warm 
clothes for rough weather. Now, whom will 
you ask? ” 

“ Why,” hesitated Joyce, ‘‘ hadn’t Patricia 
better do that? ” 

‘‘No. You make out the list; you know 
the boys and girls best. Patricia and I will 
look it over.” 

“ All right,” agreed Joyce, “ and, of course 
you know. Grandma, we can have any of the 
horses from the stable.” 


256 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

So it was arranged, and on Saturday even¬ 
ing the sleigh-ride was given for Mary Tain- 
tor. 

Mary arrived late Saturday afternoon, and 
ran in to see Joyce for a minute. She found 
her frosting a delicious-looking cake. 

‘‘ Ooh! How good! Is that for to-night? ” 

Joyce nodded. 

“ Grandma asked me to make it.” 

“ How perfectly ducky of you girls to go to 
all this trouble for me.” 

“ It’s no trouble—I love it,” Joyce assured 
her. 

“ Grandma Parsons is just more than work¬ 
ing around over there—” Mary paused sud- 
denlv. 

“ What is Patricia doing? ” asked Joyce, a 
little hurt showing in her manner. 

“ To be frank, she wasn’t doing anything 
special. I wanted her to come over with me, 
but she wouldn’t. It’s a shame—^just when I 
felt you two were really going to be friends. 
I can’t get a word out of her. Tell me what’s 
wrong, Joyce? ” 

Joyce faced her. 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 


267 


“ I honestly wish I knew. Everything was 
going so nicely. I had some of the best muf¬ 
fins ready for Saturday supper, and Patricia 
just ran in, said she wouldn’t stay, and ran 
out again.” 

Mary looked thoughtful. 

“ Did she say that—directly to you? ” 

“ Yes,” Joyce paused; “ no—she left a mes¬ 
sage.” 

Mary shook her head. 

“ Somehow that doesn’t sound exactly hke 
Patricia—excusing herself to some one else. 
Well, I must skip back. I know I can find 
a dozen things to do over there. I’ll see you 
a little later.” 

“ Be sure to wear something the snow won’t 
hurt,” Joyce called after her. 

Promptly at eight o’clock several boys and 
girls gathered in front of the Parsons home. 
Old Hal stood outside, calming a restive horse 
hitched to a long, narrow, padded bob, on two 
sleds, one front and one back. 

“Who’ll drive?” called one of the boys, 
as Patricia and Mary Taintor ran out of the 
house and down the walk. 



258 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ I will.” 

“ Let me.” 

“I’ll give these reins to no one but Ray 
Hunter,” growled Old Hal. 

“ Ray, you’re elected,” shouted the irre¬ 
pressible crowd. 

Ray seated himself in front and took up the 
reins. The rest scrambled for places. 

“ Here, that’s my place.” 

“ Move down.” 

“ Move up.” 

At last every one was on, the last boy cling¬ 
ing to the end of the bob with both hands. 

The air was dark and sparkling, the stars 
twinkled incessantly, and soon a glorious moon 
arose, but every one was too busy trying not 
to fall off, or be pushed off, even to think of 
cold. 

“ Where shall we go? ” asked Raoul. 

Out of the babel of response it was finally 
decided to go to Tubbs’ Lake. 

“ What a horrible name,” laughed Mary 
Taintor. 

“For a beautiful lake,” replied Joyce. 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 


259 


Like the man who rechristened ‘ The 
Lake of the Seven Stars ’ in Switzerland.” 

“ What did he call it? ” asked Joyce, inter¬ 
ested at once. 

“ I forget. After himself I guess,—^Hobbs 
Lake or Nelson Lake, some perfectly horrible 
name. I always call it the Lake of the Seven 
Stars when— Ouch! Who put that snow 
down my neck? ” 

In two seconds Mary was off the bob, in 
fleet pursuit of her tormentor. 

“ Catch him, Mary,” Patricia shrieked, 
glowing with cold and vigor. 

“ Rub his face in the snow,” advised Ray. 

I’ll help you,” called Joyce, scrambling 
off the bob, too. 

“ Wait a minute,” cried two or three more, 
as they joined the chase. In due time the cul¬ 
prit was caught and punished as he deserved, 
with a ducking in the snow. 

By this time Raoul had driven the rest quite 
a way ahead. Laughing and shouting, those 
left behind ran to catch up. The horse heard 
them coming, and, being excited by the noise 
and the cold, started to run. Those on the 


260 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

bob shrieked with laughter, not realizing that 
Ray was having trouble in controlling the 
horse. Patricia alone realized this, and she 
sat quite still, watching results, entirely un¬ 
afraid. 

Behind them the others ran and shouted: 
^‘Wait, Ray.” “ Aren’t you mean! ” ‘‘ I be¬ 

lieve he is doing it on purpose.” 

But Ray was not doing it ‘‘ on purpose.” 
The horse was large and strong, and Ray had 
but little space to brace himself for a pull on 
the reins. The shouting of the others 
drowned his voice, and any attempt to quiet 
the horse was useless. Faster and faster they 
went. Raoul knew there was a bad turn 
ahead, around a corner and down a rocky hill. 
He did some quick thinking. At the next 
deep snow-bank he gave a sudden sharp jerk 
to the reins, pulling with all his strength. The 
horse swerved sharply to the left, the bob¬ 
sled tipped, slewed, and upset, dumping 
every one into deep snow. The sudden weight 
of the overturned bob stopped the horse. Ray 
still clung to the lines, and in two seconds 
was at the horse’s head, calming him. 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 


261 


Amid shrieks and laughter, they all picked 
themselves up out of the deep snow. When 
Joyce, Mary, and the others came up, there 
was much hilarity. 

No one realized they had been close to 
danger except Patricia, and, seeking out 
Raoul, standing by the horse’s head, she said 
quietly, “ Well done.” 

Ray smiled back at her, standing there in 
the starlight, but no more was said. Soon 
every one was again on the bob, and the snow 
sparkled as the horse trotted along. 

But Tubbs’ Lake seemed miles away, 

‘‘ I’m hungry! ” 

‘‘ It’s getting late.” 

‘‘ And I’m cold,” came a small voice from 
the back. 

Every one laughed. 

“ Somebody else needs a snow-bath. Who 
spoke? ” 

“ I did. Come on. Give it to me,” a deep 
voice answered, and Chester Nelson, a strap¬ 
ping, six-foot youth stood up. 

Again every one laughed. 


262 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ All right, Chester. If you're cold, we’ll 
have to go back,” said Ray. 

“ Let’s.” 

“ I’m starved.” 

So they turned back toward home. The 
horse, sensing that he was going toward his 
warm bed, trotted eagerly along. 

There was still much laughter, and frequent 
spills, as first one and then another was pushed 
from his or her place, but, on the whole, every 
one was glad, by ten o’clock, to be back in the 
large front room of the Parsons home, before a 
roaring grate-fire. 

“ Isn’t this glorious? ” Mary Taintor was 
glowing with fun, sparkling from cold and 
exercise. 

“ Who’s ready to eat? ” asked Patricia. 

A general shout arose. 

“ Come on to the dining-room, then. 
Grandma Parsons fixed everything while we 
were gone,” 

“ Every one grab his own plate,” Joyce 
shouted from the doorway. 

Formed in a long line, each one took a 
plate, and proceeded to fill it from the table. 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 263 

loaded with food—home-baked sweet ham, 
fresh home-made bread, baked beans, potato 
salad, pickles, coffee, cocoa, marshmallows, 
three kinds of cake. 

“ Oh,” sighed Mary, after her third trip 
around the table, “ I don’t think I ever ate so 
much at one time before in all my life. I 
couldn’t swallow another bite. I might chew 
it, but it wouldn’t go any farther.” 

She paused as Joyce stopped before her, 
offering a marshmallow delicately browned 
and hot, on the end of a skewer. 

“ Except this,” added Mary, with a smile. 
“ I didn’t know I could have such a good 
time. I shall hate to go back to New York 
and school again, much as I love them.” 

“Ssh!” said Joyce; “Don’t let Patricia 
hear that. She’ll offer to change places with 
you.” 

“ I’m not so sure,” Patricia replied over 
Joyce’s shoulder. 

At last the crowd went. Joyce remained 
behind to clean up the “ mess,” as she called 
it, and Raoul remained to wait for her. 

“ It was such fun,” declared Mary for the 


264 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


fiftieth time, as she carried out soiled dishes to 
Joyce in the kitchen. 

“Wasn’t it?” agreed Patricia. “We do 
have such good times, here in Westcott.” 

“You sound like an old-time resident,” 
teased Mary. 

“ I felt like one to-night.” 

Joyce came in smiling, for another load. 

“ Nobody knows how glad we are to hear 
you say that.” 

Raoul came out to the dining-room from his 
place before the grate. “ You girls need an 
overseer,” he said, with a grin; “otherwise 
you’ll spend the rest of the night giving one 
another compliments.” 

“ Overseer, nothing! We need a good, 
strong dray-horse to carry out dishes,” said 
Joyce, tying her apron about him; “ and don’t 
you dare to break one of Grandma Parsons’ 
dishes, either, or she’ll have two surprises in 
the morning, instead of one.” 

“ What’s the one? ” asked Raoul. 

“ A table full of nice, clean dishes instead of 
a sinkful of dirty ones.” 

“ Whose idea was this? ” laughed Raoul. 





“Wk nerd a good strong dray-horse to carry out the dishes, 

SAID Joyce.— Page 264. 































THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 


265 


“ Patricia’s,” said Joyce. 

“ Mary’s,” said Patricia. 

“ Joyce’s,” said Mary. 

Ray clapped his hands over his ears. 

“Thanks! I’ll take the credit myself. 
Come on, let’s get busy.” 

It was while Joyce stood with her hands in 
hot soap-suds, and the others industriously 
wiped plates and cups and silver, that the 
truth about the last Saturday supper at the 
Hunters’ came out. 

“ I love kitchens,” exclaimed Mary, sud¬ 
denly. 

Patricia flushed, her head raised high. 

“ They are all right—for some things.” 

There was a sudden silence. Joyce looked 
puzzled. 

“ Does that mean anything—special? ” she 
asked. 

Patricia looked directly at her. 

“ I don’t care especially to eat there.” 

Joyce looked surprised. 

“ You’ve never had to, have you? ” 

“ I’ve been—invited to.” 

“You have? When?” 



266 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Patricia changed suddenly. 

“ Didn’t you tell Irma that, last Satur¬ 
day? ” 

Joyce shook her head slowly. 

‘‘ I didn’t tell Irma anything. I said we’d 
be ready to eat when they finished.” 

“ Oh,” said Patricia. Then suddenly, she 
said warmly, “ I’m terribly sorry, Joyce. It 
was a little thing, I know, but the way it was 
done—and all.” 

“ All right,” returned Joyce, smiling; “ I’m 
glad I know. And now, let’s hurry and get 
these dishes put away. It’s time for Ray and 
me to be running along.” 

Mary and Patricia stood in the doorway, 
waving after them. 

“ Good-by. Good-by.” 

‘‘ Run in to-morrow before Mary leaves.” 

‘‘ I think she’s a dear,” said Mary, as Pa¬ 
tricia closed and locked the door. 

" “ Yes. Ray is mighty pleasant, too.” 

But Joyce did not go over the next after¬ 
noon, for Bobbie was suddenly and alarmingly 
sick. 

Joyce was called out of bed early in the 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 267 

morning. Mrs. Hunter, in a large, warm 
dressing-gown and slippers, was hurrying 
about, filling the hot-water bottle, getting out 
old tried remedies, trying Bobbie’s tempera¬ 
ture. 

“ Joyce, you’ll have to get breakfast. I 
can’t leave Bobbie an instant.” 

“ All right,” J oyce was still sleepy. ‘‘ Is he 
very sick? ” 

“ I don’t know. He’s running a high tem¬ 
perature. Of course,” Mrs. Hunter consoled 
herself and Joyce at the same time, “ children 
often do run a fever; it doesn’t mean a great 
deal, but he’s so restless—won’t keep covered.” 

Hadn’t we better send for the doctor? ” 

Joyce shivered, partly from nervousness, 
partly from the chill air in her room from the 
windows open all night. 

“ Not yet anyway. Get Ray up. Tell 
him to build a good fire in the furnace. I 
can’t keep Bobbie covered.” 

So, while Ray struggled with the old fur¬ 
nace, building a fire in it as only he could build 
it, Joyce prepared breakfast. But her mind 
was not on her work. The Hunter family 


268 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

\ 

were seldom sick, so when any one did fall ill, 
it was a serious calamity. She greeted Raoul 
with a worried, frightened gaze as he came 
up the back stairs into the kitchen. 

“Do you think it’s going to be serious, 
Ray? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. Kids often get des¬ 
perately sick, and are all right again in a few 
days.” His tone was reassuring. 

Joyce went over and put her head on his 
shoulder for a minute. 

“ Oh, Ray, it’s such a comfort to have you 
about. It seems to me I can think of every 
mean thing I ever said or did to Bobbie.” 

Ray patted her shoulder. “ He adores 
you, Joy. I don’t think you ever did or said 
a mean thing to any one in your life.” 

“Oh, but I have!” Joyce was deeply in 
earnest. 

“ I’d try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll be 
all right. Is the coffee ready? ” 

Recalled to her job, Joyce flew about the 
kitchen, and soon the family , were all eating 
breakfast, but there was no hilarity, no chat- 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 269 

ter. Every one was thinking of Bobbie, toss¬ 
ing on his bed upstairs. 

As soon as he had eaten, Mr. Hunter went 
out, and soon came back with the doctor. 
Joyce stopped washing dishes, and stood at 
the foot of the stairs and listened while the 
door of the room shared by Bobbie and Tim- 
mie opened and closed. Silence. Joyce re¬ 
turned to the kitchen. Irma was there, wip¬ 
ing dishes. She seemed unusually subdued, 
but Joyce was too worried to pay any at¬ 
tention. 

After endless ages, Joyce heard her mother 
and the doctor talking on the front stairs, then 
the front door slam as the doctor went out. 
Joyce dried her hands, preparatory to run¬ 
ning up, but just at that moment Mrs. Hun¬ 
ter entered the kitchen. There was an air of 
relief about her. Both girls looked at her 
eagerly. 

“ He says it isn’t serious—^just a stomach 
attack. Bobbie has eaten something he 
shouldn’t, or else has overeaten. He’ll be all 
right in a day or two.” 


270 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


To every one’s surprise, Irma burst into 
tears. 

“ I didn’t mean to. I forgot. I’m so glad 
he isn’t going to be sick.” 

“ Why, Irma,”—Mrs. Hunter was com¬ 
pletely at a loss,—“ what is the matter? ” 

“ I was so mad at Ray and Joyce last 
night, I made a whole pan of ocean foam, and 
Bobbie and I ate it. I forgot how sick it 
always makes him. You know how fond he 
is of sweets. He must have eaten half of it.” 

‘‘ Bobbie knows better than that himself,” 
Mrs. Hunter was severe. 

“ But he’s only a child,” Irma defended him. 
“ Really it was my fault. I worried about it 
all night.” 

“ Why didn’t you tell Mother this morn¬ 
ing? ” asked Joyce. 

‘‘ I was afraid to, afraid he might be going 
to—” Irma choked. ‘‘ And it was all my 
own fault. I’ll never forget again.” 

‘‘You can go sit with him,” said Mrs. Hun¬ 
ter. “ He’s quiet now. The doctor gave him 
some medicine. Is the coffee still hot, 
Joyce? ” 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 


271 


Irma gladly went to stay with Bobbie while 
Joyce hurried about, getting her mother some 
breakfast. 

• All day Bobbie tossed and twisted. Irma 
and Joyce took turns at his bedside, relieving 
Mrs. Hunter, who had been up practically all 
night. So Joyce had time only to run in for 
a few minutes to say good-by to Mary. 

“ Surely have loved having you here,” she 
said in farewell. “ Won’t you come back 
again some day? ” 

“ I’d love to, and perhaps I can. It cer¬ 
tainly has done Patricia worlds of good.” 

Patricia made a face at her friend. 

“ Mary, I hate being ‘ improved.’ ” 

“ Why, you haven’t even asked about Roy 
Walker.” 

Who? ” asked Patricia. “ Oh, I had for¬ 
gotten—” 

She flushed. Joyce looked from one to the 
other, from the teasing smile on Mary’s face 
to the embarrassed blush on Patricia’s, and, 
though she was consumed with curiosity, she 
said nothing. 


272 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


That evening, after Mary had gone, Pa¬ 
tricia ran in to the Hunters’, carrying a huge 
plate filled with delicious, creamy, home-made 
fudge. 

Bobbie was sleeping, and Joyce, glad of the 
respite, was curled up before the grate-fire, 
reading. Ray was there, too. Irma was out, 
and Timmie had gone with his mother and 
father for a walk. 

“ This is good,” said Ray as he took his 
third piece. “ Did you make it? ” 

Patricia nodded. 

“ Some cook! ” 

“ Fudge is the extent of my efforts, how¬ 
ever,” laughed Patricia. 

“ Are you lonesome, now that Mary’s 
gone? ” asked Joyce. 

“ I did hate to see her go,” admitted Pa¬ 
tricia. 

“ Didn’t we have fun last night? ” 

“ Mary said she didn’t know when she’d had 
such a good time.” 

That doesn’t seem possible,” said Joyce, 
‘‘ when she’s travelled so much.” 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 273 

Patricia shook her head. “ Mary rarely 
says anything she doesn’t mean.” 

Long after Raoul had taken his book and 
gone upstairs to finish it, the girls sat talking 
and eating fudge. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hunter came in, Timmie with 
them, and all went upstairs. Irma came, 
stopped to see who was before the fire, and 
rather abruptly retired. 

The fire grew lower and lower, and two 
heads, one dark, one tawny, bent closer to¬ 
gether, talking. Confidences were exchanged, 
the confidences of little things. Joyce grew 
to know Patricia better in those few hours 
than in the many months before that time. 
Finally Patricia touched on a delicate sub¬ 
ject—Irma! 

‘‘ Poor Irma,” said Joyce, ‘‘ she feels ter¬ 
ribly about Bobbie.” 

“ What did she have to do with it? ” 

“ Didn’t I tell you? She forgot, and let 
him eat all the ocean foam he wanted. It 
always makes him sick! ” 

“ And she knew—and forgot! ” 

Joyce nodded. She was well aware that 


274 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Patricia did not like Irma. She did not want 
to be disloyal to her sister, yet she did not 
want to lose Patricia’s confidence. 

“ How could she forget a thing like that? I 
know I never would. And if I had a brother 
as dear as Bobbie—” 

‘‘ Poor Irma! She really felt dreadfully 
about it.” 

“ Joyce, I don’t understand her. She seems 
so dilferent from you—and Bay.” 

‘‘ I suppose there might be many things to 
account for that. In a way it is strange, but 
Irma, even though she is an older sister and 
all that, never has taken the least bit of re¬ 
sponsibility.” 

“ I know,” agreed Patricia. “ Grandma 
Parsons says one reason you are such a won¬ 
derful girl is that you have always taken care 
of every one from your father down to Bingo.” 

“ Dear old Dad. Mother has been so busy 
with us children, that some one had to look 
after Dad, and I was elected. You think a 
lot of your father, too, don’t you, Patricia? ” 

“ Yes, but it never would occur to me to 
look after him.” 


THE SLEIGH-RIDE PARTY 276 

“ Wouldn’t it? I wonder. Place your¬ 
self in my position: a father you adored, a 
busy mother, many brothers and sisters, not 
too much money. If you saw your father 
coming home, tired, fagged from working for 
you, wouldn’t you want to do everything in 
your power to make it easier for him? ” 

Patricia looked thoughtful. “ Yes, I sup¬ 
pose I would. I never see that side of my 
father, but that’s a good idea.” 

“ What? ” Joyce looked surprised. 

‘‘To try to imagine how it would seem to be 
in another’s place. I’m going to try it often. 
Now, the fire is out, and I suppose I must 
put myself in Grandma Parsons’ place, and 
wonder whatever I am doing over here so 
late. Good-night, Joyce. I’m ever so glad 
we had this talk.” 

“ Not a bit gladder than I am,” said Joyce. 
“ And thanks so much for the fudge.” 

“ Better save those last two pieces for 
Raoul.” Patricia fiashed her a smile, and was 
gone. 

Slowly, happily Joyce went to her room; 


276 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


happy because Bobbie was better, happy be¬ 
cause she had stood by Irma, and happy to 
know that she and Patricia were at last really 
becoming friends. 


CHAPTER XIV; 


THE FAIRY CLOCK 

‘‘ JUST think, here it is February so soon.” 

Patricia followed Grandma into the 
kitchen. 

“ The last letter from your mother was 
from China, wasn’t it? ” Grandma Parsons 
took a platter of chicken from the ice-box 
and looked it over. 

“Oh, delicious!” Patricia clapped her 
hands. “ Are we going to have chicken and 
dumpling again? ” 

“ Well, you are fond of it, and it is the one 
thing your grandfather positively stuffs on.” 

“ He does like it, doesn’t he? But why is 
each piece so carefully placed? ” Patricia 
teased, for it seemed to her that at times 
Grandma Parsons was unnecessarily particu¬ 
lar. 

“ That is very essential,” Grandma ex¬ 
plained. “ I don’t know why it is, but if 
chicken is packed close, it deteriorates very 
quickly, and there is danger of ptomaine 


277 


278 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


poisoning. Not so bad until after it is cooked 
and cooled, but I never like to take any 
chances.” 

“ I see,” chuckled Patricia. “ Here comes 
Bobbie. I wonder what he wants.” 

Bobbie, full of snow, his cap pulled close 
over his eyes, came in looking disconsolate. 

“ What’s wrong, Bobbie? ” Grandma knew 
the expression of old. 

“ I’ve lost my mittens—” 

“ Like the three little kittens,” said Pa¬ 
tricia. 

“ You’re as bad as Ray,” returned Bobbie. 

“ Can’t you find them? ” Grandma was 
sympathetic at once. 

“ No. Ho you suppose I left them here? ” 

“ I haven’t seen them, Bobbie,” said Pa¬ 
tricia, “ but come on. We’ll go look for 
them.” They searched high and low, but no 
mittens were to be found. 

‘‘ Where could you have put them, Bob¬ 
bie?” 

Bobbie shook his head disconsolately. 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Where did you wear them last? ” 


THE FAIRY CLOCK 


279 


Again Bobbie shook his head. 

“ Think—^hard—Bobbie.” 

“ I can’t. I—I forget.” 

Patricia looked at him in disgust. 

“ You’re as bad as Irma,” she said. 

That night, after school, Bobbie came in 
again, and he was radiant. 

“ I found them,” he announced. 

Where? ” asked Grandma. 

‘‘ I left them in my desk at school.” 

“Lost something again?” Grandfather 
Parsons looked up with his mild smile. 

Bobbie hung his head. 

“ Come over here before the fire,” invited 
Grandfather; “ I’m going to tell you a fairy- 
story.” 

Bobbie went eagerly. The two, grand¬ 
father old and grey, Bobbie very young and 
black-haired, sat in one big chair before the 
fireplace. Bobbie listened while Grandfather 
talked. 

“ Once upon a time—that’s the way all 
proper fairy-stories should begin, isn’t it, 
Bobbie? ” 

Bobbie nodded his head. “ Go on,” he said. 



280 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


‘‘ Well, once, back there in those days, there 
was a clock, a magic clock. It not only told 
the hours and minutes, but the days and years, 
when the sun set, when the moon rose, what 
time one should plant seeds, when little boys 
should get up, when they must go to bed, even 
when it was time for them to wash their hands 
and faces.” 

“ Oh,” said Bobbie. 

‘‘ It was a very marvelous clock, you must 
admit, and the man who made it never had 
to think again. But one day he died, and the 
clock became the property of a little boy, 
about your age, I guess, Bobbie.” 

“ Six,” Bobbie helped him out. 

“ You see, if I owned that clock, I’d know, 
because it told birthdays, too.” 

“Wish I’d owned it,” said Bobbie; “I’d 
make it go twice as fast, and then I’d have two 
birthdays a year.” 

“ Perhaps, but that probably wouldn’t 
work. It was quite an important clock, you 
see. The whole town depended on it to be 
told what to do. 

“ One day this little boy, really rather a 


THE FAIRY CLOCK 


281 


careless little boy, unhooked one of the hands 
from the clock, and then went for a long walk 
in the woods. When he came back, he saw 
a crowd in front of his house. 

Where is the clock’s hand? ’ they all 
shouted. ‘ Bring it back. We do not know 
whether it is time to get up or to go to bed. 
Where is the clock’s hand? ’ 

“ ‘ I took it off,’ said Hermie—that was 
the little boy’s name. 

“ ‘ What did you do with it? ’ 

‘‘ ‘ I forget,’ he answered. 

“ Then such a howling: ‘ Bring back the 

hand. Bring back the hand.’ 

“ Poor Hermie! He could not bring back 
the hand because he did not have it. He had 
forgotten where he left it. 

“ Covering his ears with his hands, he ran 
again to the deep, deep woods. Behind every 
tree he looked, but he could not find the hand. 
He grew hungrier and hungrier and thirstier 
and thirstier, and very, very tired. Finally 
he crept back to the village. 

“ ‘ Give me something to eat? ’ he begged 
of one man. . 



282 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


‘‘ The man looked at him and shook his 
head. 

‘‘ ‘ Our clock is gone, and I forgot to buy 
food to-day before the store closed. You must 
go hungry.’ 

“ Hermie crept to another. 

‘‘ ‘ May I have a drink of water? ’ 

“ ‘ I forgot to draw water from the well to¬ 
day,’ said the second man ‘ you must go 
thirsty.’ 

“ He crept to a third man. 

“ ‘ May I sleep here? ’ 

“ The man laughed aloud. ‘ We used to 
have an extra bed and plenty of blankets, but 
my wife has forgotten where she put them. 
There is no place for you to sleep.’ 

“ Poor little Hermie! He crept back to 
the woods once more, and made a solemn 
promise never to forget anything again. And 
lo and behold! He was near the very bush 
he had been playing beside the day before, 
and at its foot was the hand of the clock! He 
had been using it for an arrow. 

“‘Goody! Goody!’ cried Hermie, and 
ran back and put the hand on the clock where 


THE FAIRY CLOCK 


283 


it belonged. Every one was so glad to have 
the hand back that they prepared a big feast, 
and Hermie was the guest of honor. From 
that day to this he has never forgotten any¬ 
thing, because the hand of the clock was there 
to remind him.” 

Bobbie’s eyes were big. 

“ Oh,” he sighed; “ wish I had a clock like 
that.” 

“ You have,” smiled Grandfather Parsons, 
“ only it is rather weak—doesn’t run very 
weU.” 

Bobbie looked at him in amazement. 

“ Really and truly I haven’t,” said Bobbie. 

“ Oh, yes, you have—only you call it 
‘ Memory.’ You’ve lost a hand or so, but if 
you take care of it better, I think it would 
work splendidly.” 

‘‘ Oh,” said Bobbie again, slowly. “ I see. 
I’ll try. Grandfather Parsons.” 

When Joyce reached home after school that 
evening, she found two large red hearts hung 
on the knob of the front door. Mystified, 
she picked them up. One was for Raoul, the 
other for herself. On each was an invitation 



284 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


to a fancy-dress party which Patricia was 
giving on the following Friday. 

“ How interesting! ” Joyce dashed into the 
house, looking for her mother. “ I suppose 
it was Grandma’s idea,” she said as she showed 
her mother the invitations. 

“ The party, you mean? ” 

“ No, the invitations.” 

“ Grandma Parsons told me that was Pa¬ 
tricia’s own idea.” 

“ You knew about it, and didn’t tell me? ” 
Joyce was surprised. 

“ I thought it would be more fun for you 
to hear about it this way.” 

“ Well, really, I guess it was. What shall 
I wear? ” 

That question was asked in several homes 
that evening, for Patricia had included prac¬ 
tically all the junior class. She had even 
asked Mr. Hale and his wife, who, though 
they were unable to come, felt highly pleased 
over Patricia’s thoughtfulness. 

I was wrong about him, and very rude 
at first. I did think history was a stupid 
subject, and that Mr. Hale was a stupid 


THE FAIRY CLOCK 


285 


teacher, but I’ve changed my mind about them 
both,” Patricia explained to Grandma Par¬ 
sons, “ and I’d like to make it up to him in 
some way.” 

Grandma nodded wisely. 

‘‘ You were wrong about a good many 
things when you first came, weren’t you, Pa¬ 
tricia? ” 

Patricia looked thoughtful, even a trifle 
stubborn, for a minute. 

Then she smiled. ‘‘ As much as I hate to 
admit it,” she replied, “ I guess I was.” 

Grandma Parsons looked at her approv- 
ingly. 

You have the right stuff in you, Patricia,” 
which, from Grandma Parsons, was almost 
unlimited praise. 

“ I’m going to do everything myself for 
this party,”—Patricia was glowing inwardly, 
—‘‘ you’re not even to come to the kitchen. 
Joyce will come over, and a couple of the other 
girls, if necessary. I have a costume all 
made, so I won’t have to worry about that, and 
the rest I’m going to do on my own.” 

Grandma Parsons consented for reasons of 



286 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


her own. She was anxious to see if Patricia 
really could go ahead. She felt it would be 
splendid training for her, and she knew Pa¬ 
tricia did not realize fully how much work 
there was to be done. Experience is a splen¬ 
did teacher. Work would hurt no one. Such 
were Grandma’s thoughts. 

Joyce came over Thursday after school. 
Busily the two girls cleaned and cut up 
chickens, cooked them, made cakes, prepared 
salad dressing. Several times Grandma 
Parsons went through the kitchen, and, 
though to her it seemed “ terribly messy,” she 
usually refrained from any words. The girls 
were left to their own devices. 

“ Do you think this is enough flour in this 
cake?” Patricia asked, her cheeks and hair 
dabbed with white flour. 

Joyce tested with a big spoon. “ I think 
so. Are you sure you put in the baking 
powder? ” 

‘‘ Yes, and the vanilla. Goodness! What’s 
burning? ” 

The cakes came out high, light, a lovely 
amber, the chicken was packed away in the 


THE FAIRY CLOCK 


287 


ice-box everything in readiness for the final 
touches which were to be given Friday after¬ 
noon. 

Joyce, well satisfied and thoroughly tired, 
ran home across the snowy yard. 

“ Is everything ready? ” Ray asked her at 
late supper. 

“ Looks lovely. And I am tired.” 

“ How about decorations? Going to have 
any? ” 

“ There! I have forgotten. Patricia did 
intend to do something, I don’t know just 
what. O dear! Suppose I’ll have to go over 
after supper. We won’t have time to-mor¬ 
row.” 

“ You go to bed; I’ll run over.” 

Patricia as well as Joyce had gone to bed 
early. Ray told his errand to Grandfather 
and Grandma Parsons, and, like conspirators, 
they quietly and busily put up the strings of 
red hearts, the vases filled with red and white 
roses, the huge valentines, even fixed the 
comics to be used in a guessing game. 

“ Poor child! ” said Grandma. ‘‘ She was 
completely exhausted.” 



288 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ So was Joyce. Some spread they must 
have fixed.” 

“ I didn’t touch a thing. Everything looks 
lovely.” 

“ What did they cook? ” Grandfather was 
as interested in the party as though he had 
been Bobbie’s age. 

“ Cake—chicken salad—loads of good 
things,” said Grandma. 

“And they did it all alone?” Grand¬ 
father’s face glowed. 

“ Absolutely.” 

“ You’ll have to move on tiptoe all day to¬ 
morrow,” laughed Bay as he departed. 

Patricia and Joyce both missed in French 
class. With so much on their minds, it 
seemed impossible to think of studies. Miss 
Laurence was always very cool to Patricia, 
and pointedly polite. The class often won¬ 
dered over this attitude, but they never ques¬ 
tioned Patricia, and she had never mentioned 
the incident of the oral examination to any 
one, not even to Joyce. 

At last it was time for the guests to arrive, 
and Patricia, flushed and pink-cheeked. 



THE FAIRY CLOCK 


289 


awaited them. She was dressed as the Queen 
of Hearts. Her white gown, stiffly starched, 
stood out, covered with innumerable tiny red 
and gold hearts. On her head she wore a gilt 
crown. Very much a queen she looked. 

Joyce’s dress, though made of cheap ma¬ 
terial, became her as much in its way as Pa¬ 
tricia’s did its wearer. It was all red, cut so 
that when she extended her arms she was a 
complete large heart, trimmed with tiny gold 
arrows. 

Varied and interesting were the costumes, 
some gay, some comical, all different. 

“ How did you think of it? ” 

“ How cunning! ” 

“ Where did you get that idea? ” 
Comments, questions, laughter filled the 
rooms as guest after guest arrived and joined 
the others. 

First, that every one might feel at home, 
a few foolish games were played. Arrows 
were pinned to a heart, the pinner being first 
blindfolded; wide and close were the results. 
Then came a game with comic valentines, fol¬ 
lowed by a guessing game. By the time 


290 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


every one was thoroughly interested, Patricia 
brought out cards. Wails began. 

“ I can’t play bridge.” 

‘‘ I hate five hundred! ” 

“ You aren’t any of you a bit polite,” 
laughed Joyce. 

“ Anyhow,” added Patricia, “ we’re going to 
play—what do you suppose? ” 

Guesses were varied and wild. 

“ I refuse to play old maid,” said one of 
the girls. 

“ All right, then it will be—^hearts.” 

This was accepted with much laughter and 
enthusiasm, and the evening sped merrily and 
gayly. The prize was a large red heart-shaped 
box filled with candy, the winner of which was 
so nearly mobbed that the candy spilled and a 
scramble occurred at once. 

Then came lunch. Proudly Patricia 
brought on her chicken salad, dainty bread- 
and-butter sandwiches, thin as thin could be, 
delicious cakes, chocolate, nut-caramel, and 
home-made ice-cream. 

Some spread! ” Jimmy Foster expressed 
the general opinion. 



THE FAIRY CLOCK 


291 


‘‘ Now that’s over,” said Joyce regretfully 
as she parted from Patricia at the door. 

‘‘ Did you really enjoy it? ” 

“ Never had such a good time in my life.” 

‘‘ Second the motion,” echoed Ray. 

Patricia flashed him a glowing smile. Still 
thrilled and happy, she ran to the kitchen 
where Grandma was cleaning up. Seated at 
the table was Grandfather Parsons, and be¬ 
fore him a huge plate of chicken salad. 

“ Why, Grandfather,” teased Patricia, 
“ you’ll be sick. That’s three times as much 
as any one else had.” 

Grandfather smiled at her. 

“ Too good to waste,” he said. 

“ It is good,” acceded Grandma. 

“ Everything was just perfect,” said Pa¬ 
tricia; “ I enjoyed it so.” 

‘‘ You see,” said Grandma, “ that’s because 
you earned it. Now run along to bed. I’ll 
finish up.” 

Patricia was awakened in the middle of the 
night by a light in her room. Grandma stood 
by her bed, a worried, almost terrified look on 
her face. 


292 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


‘‘ Patricia,” she said, “ you’re grandfather 
is very ill. I’ve sent for Doctor Severance.” 

“ Oh,” gasped Patricia, frightened as much 
by her grandmother’s face as by the message. 
“ What is it? ” 

“ I don’t know yet, but I must go right 
back. He doesn’t want me to leave him. 
Will you go down and heat some water, boil¬ 
ing hot. If he drinks some, it may relieve 
him.” 

Teeth chattering, frightened, Patricia, 
wrapped in a huge, warm bath-robe, crept to 
the kitchen. The minutes seemed endless, as 
she stood near the stove, waiting for the 
water to boil. 

When she got back upstairs. Dr. Severance 
was there, and Patricia was not allowed in her 
grandfather’s room. 

But the doctor, seeing her expression, took 
time for a few well-meant words. ‘‘ Run 
along to bed. Mrs. Parsons is a splendid 
nurse. There is nothing you can do. He is 
quite sick, but not fatally, I think. Some¬ 
thing he has eaten.” 

He was gone^ leaving a stricken Patricia in 


! 

) 


THE FAIRY CLOCK 


293 


a cold hall. Numbly she crept back to bed. 
Something he had eaten—chicken salad. 
Suddenly it struck her. She had packed the 
hot chicken all together on one platter! She 
remembered now that Grandma Parsons had 
said that was bad, liable to produce ptomaine 
poisoning. Patricia had forgotten that—and 
Grandfather had eaten such a lot. 

“ Oh,” groaned Patricia. “ It was my 
fault. How terrible! If he should—but he 
mustn’t—I didn’t mean to do it—I only for¬ 
got.” 

Then another thought flashed through her 
mind. That was what Irma had done, for¬ 
gotten—about Bobbie. And Patricia had 
been most indignant. 

“ Oh,” she sobbed, “ oh, if Grandfather will 
only get well. I’ll never be snippy to Irma 
again.” 

Almost in answer came a tap at the door, 
and Grandma came in. 

‘‘ He’s much better,” she said. 

“ I’m so glad,” sobbed Patricia. 

“ Doctor Severance said he’d have to keep 


294 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 
quiet a few days, then he would be as good 
as ever.” 

In thankfulness and relief Patricia dropped 
back into a slumber which reached far into 
Saturday morning. 


CHAPTER XV 


TIRE 

‘‘ Shall we take the horses out a while to¬ 
night? ” Joyce asked. 

“ Challenge decidedly needs exercise. 
Let’s.” 

Side by side the two girls galloped out the 
“ Hollow ” road. Patricia, as always, cor¬ 
rectly attired, a heavy coat over her immacu¬ 
late riding-breeches, Joyce in worn khaki 
breeches and a plaid mackinaw. 

“ Isn’t a horse a wonderful friend? ” asked 
Joyce, patting Skip on the neck. 

“Yes. Isn’t it too bad that more girls 
don’t appreciate horses? ” answered Patricia; 
“ though several of my friends do ride.” 

“Does Mary Taintor?” asked Joyce. 

“ Oh, yes. Mary does everything, and 
does it well.” 

“ Isn’t she the most wonderful girl that ever 
lived. What is there about her? ” asked 
Joyce. 

“ I don’t know. Born under a lucky star. 


295 


296 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

I guess. She has skied in Switzerland, lived 
in a Chinese houseboat on the Yangste, been 
on hunting-trips in Africa, ridden the surf at 
Waikiki—done all the interesting things that 
you can think of.” 

Joyce sighed. 

“And yet she said she had a wonderful 
time here in Westcott.” 

“She did, too,” asserted Patricia; “that’s 
Mary. Anywhere she goes, she enjoys life, 
and I think she always will.” 

“ You are lucky to have her for a friend, 
Patricia.” 

“ Yes, I am, but, for that matter, she counts 
you her friend, and a mighty fine one.” 

“Really?” Joyce fiushed with pleasure. 

“ She mentions you every letter, and, that 
makes me think, our school won the silver 
basket-ball cup this year. I’m so happy. I 
do hope I make the team there next year.” 

“You will, of course,” said Joyce; “think 
of all the practice you’ve had this year.” 

“ Do you realize that next week is our big 
game, your team against mine? ” 

“ Is it that soon? ” Joyce looked surprised. 



FIRE 


297 


‘‘ Maybe by next year we’ll be good enough 
to play outside teams.” 

“ Whom did you decide to put in as for¬ 
ward? ” 

“ Caroline Boyd, I guess. She’s tall, 
though she’s not very quick.” 

“ That will about even our teams. One of 
my guards is as slow as can be.” 

“ Well, if she and Caroline play against 
one another, it should even things up.” 

“ Who do you suppose will win? ” 

“ My team, of course,” laughed Joyce. 
“ Whoa, Skip! What’s the matter, old fel¬ 
low? ” 

Skip had gone suddenly lame. Joyce slid 
out of the saddle and began to examine the 
horse’s hoofs, one by one. Patricia looked 
on admiringly, while Challenge reared and 
pranced in the cold. In a short time Joyce 
discovered the trouble. 

“ It’s a chunk of ice. Poor old Skip! ” she 
patted his neck. 

Try as she would, she could not dislodge 
the piece of sharp ice, wedged under the shoe. 

“ Wish I had a knife. Wait a minute.” 


298 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

With the reins over her arm, she led Skip 
to a low bush, from which, with much tugging 
and scratching of her hands, cold and raw in 
the winter air, she managed to break off a 
twig. This was small enough to go rmder 
the piece of ice, and, with a quick jerk, loosen 
it. 

“ There,” Joyce patted Skip again, “ he will 
be all right now, only I suppose I’d better 
go back. I’m sorry.” 

“ All right,” said Patricia. “ You cer¬ 
tainly are capable, Joyce.” 

Friday all the girls in school were very 
much excited. The game was to be called 
directly after school. Since it was only two 
teams of their own, and not a real game, it 
was decided to play in the afternoon instead of 
the evening. No admission was to be charged, 
and several of the townspeople were com¬ 
ing in. 

Joyce could have been no more excited had 
she been playing against a Minneapolis team. 
Her hair, bound down with a red ribbon, her 
basket-ball suit immaculate, she flew here and 
there, giving final instructions, a little added 


FIRE 


299 


coaching or encouragement where she thought 
it necessary. 

Patricia, too, was excited, but her outward 
manner was calm. 

At last they faced each other, smiled, and 
then grew serious as the whistle sounded and 
the ball was tossed. Patricia, a trifle taller 
than Joyce, reached the ball first, giving her 
side the advantage; but Joyce’s guards were 
well picked, and the ball soon went in the other 
direction. Caroline caught it, and fumbled 
amid a general groan. 

The girls were not as fast as the boys’ team, 
but they played in very good form, and the 
first half ended with the score eight to four, 
in Joyce’s favor. 

Jubilantly the team gathered around Joyce. 

Then the second half! 

Joyce’s side seemed unable to score, while 
Patricia’s team brought the score up eight to 
eight. Both Joyce and Patricia were work¬ 
ing hard. The game was nearly over, time 
was getting short. The ball, fumbled in a 
throw, bounced toward Patricia and Joyce; 
a wild scramble, a slip, Joyce down on her 


300 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

knees, up again, Patricia with the ball, the ball 
down to Patricia’s forwards, in the basket, 
ten to eight, the whistle, time up, game over, 
Patricia’s side ahead. 

Indignantly the girls gathered around 
J oyce. 

“ It wasn’t fair.” 

“ She shoved you.” 

“ Referee should have called time.” 

“ What happened? ” 

“ Girls,” Joyce commanded silence, ‘‘ it was 
perfectly fair. Patricia never touched me. 
I slipped. Now, three cheers for Patricia 
Strickland and her team! Hip, hip, hooray! ” 

The building rang with the shouts. 

Patricia’s team, not to be outdone, returned 
the shouts. The game was over, and, amid 
much chattering and jostling and talking, the 
girls went to their lockers. 

That evening at the supper-table Irma 
looked at Joyce with a rather unpleasant 
smile. 

“ Lost this afternoon, didn’t you? ” 

‘‘ Yes, we did,” Joyce replied cheerfully, 
much as she had longed to win. 


FIRE 


301 


“ I hear Miss Strickland won hy a foul.” 

“ You’re wrong,” replied Joyce hotly; “ it 
was perfectly fair.” 

“ Anyway, it would be just like her.” 

Joyce looked at her sister. 

“ Irma,” she said, ‘‘ what has come over 
you? Patricia has been feeling badly to think 
she once blamed you for forgetting about Bob¬ 
bie’s weakness for candy, and here you say 
the most unkind things about her. What has 
happened to you? You never used to be like 
that.” 

Irma dropped her eyes, and had the grace 
to blush. 

“ Who you talking about? ” piped up Bob¬ 
bie; ‘‘Patricia? She’s a peach, even if she 
has got red hair.” 

Amid a general laugh the conversation was 
changed, but Irma continued to feel chagrined 
for some time. However, all small feelings, 
triumphs, and injuries were swallowed up in 
an event that happened the following Monday. 

Joyce was poring over her French. The 
last week she had missed twice in recitation, 
and was determined to make np for it, S6 


302 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

deep was her concentration that it was several 
minutes before she realized that there was 
some secret excitement about her in the quiet 
room. She raised her head inquiringly. 

‘‘ Fire,” some one whispered. 

“ Where? Here in the building? ” asked 
Joyce. 

“ No—I don’t know where—listen—” 

The siren was blowing shrilly and long, 
much longer than usual. Even Mr. Johnson 
was becoming nervous. He walked to the 
window and looked out. 

Some one ran into the room and called, 
‘‘Joyce Hunter—on the ’phone.” 

Joyce ran, too frightened to think. 

“Oh, Joyce, the stable is on fire! Come 
home I ” 

Not stopping for hat or coat, Joyce ran out, 
but she did not run home—she could not. 
She ran at once to the barns. Evidently Ray 
had been summoned before her, for he was 
there, dirty, smoke-begrimed, already leading 
horses from the blazing building. Mr. Hun¬ 
ter was there, too, doing everything possible. 


FIRE 


303 


“ Oh, Dad,” Joyce ran up to him, “ how did 
it start? ” 

“ I don’t know. Run along, Joycie—that’s 
a good girl.” 

“ Where’s Hal? ” 

“ Over there.” 

‘‘ Dad, don’t go back in.” 

‘‘ I must. All the horses aren’t out.” 

“ Please—don’t. Let me go.” 

Rut Mr. Hunter had already gone. 

Joyce ran to Hal, crying “ Stop him, can’t 
you? ” 

‘‘ ’Fraid not. Miss Joyce. Seven or eight 
horses still in there.” 

O dear! ” wailed poor Joyce, torn between 
grief for the horses and fear for her father, 
“ if I were only a man! ” Then suddenly, 

Is Skip out? ” 

Hal pointed to a bunch of horses. ‘‘ First 
one,” he said proudly. 

“ And Challenge? ” 

“ Who? ” Hal always spoke of the horses 
as individuals. 

Patricia—Miss Strickland’s horse.” 



304 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


Hal looked startled. “ Don’t know. 
Haven’t seen—” But Joyce was gone. 

The wooden building was blazing badly 
now. Flames were roaring from the top, 
smoke pouring from the wide doors where the 
horses came out. Everywhere rubber-clad 
firemen were working furiously, for it was 
an unusually hot and very bad fire. 

One of the men divined Joyce’s intention 
of going in, and stopped her. 

“ Can’t let you. Miss.” 

“ But I mustf" insisted Joyce, half crying. 

“You wouldn’t last two seconds—not in 
them clothes.” 

Joyce looked around wildly. The horses 
were neighing and stamping. Challenge must 
not be left to such an awful death. She caught 
sight of Baoul, staggering through the smoke, 
leading three horses. Directly behind came 
Mr. Hunter, with four more protesting ani¬ 
mals. 

“ That’s all,” gasped Ray to his father. 

“ No, no, it isn’t! ” Joyce ran up to him. 
“ Challenge is in there.” 

“ Who? They’re all out.” 


FIRE 


305 


“ Patricia’s horse! ” 

Mr. Hunter looked startled. “ By Jove, I 
believe that’s right. That horse has a special 
stall.” 

Ray was gone again, fighting the belching, 
curling smoke, his hand across his eyes. 

For ages Joyce stood there petrified, watch¬ 
ing each curl of smoke, each licking flame. 
Had she sent her brother to his death for the 
sake of a horse? At that instant she hated 
Patricia. 

There was a cracking, a roar, a burst of 
flame. 

“ The roof has fallen! ” called some one. 

Joyce sobbed aloud in anxiety. “ Ray— 
oh, Ray! ” 

As though he had heard her, Ray, blackened 
beyond recognition, came out, leading a stub¬ 
born, blindfolded horse. 

“He balked,” Ray said as he gave Joyce 
the lines; “he balked.” 

Raoul dropped in a heap at her feet, over¬ 
come by smoke, and willing hands were still 
working over him when Patricia arrived. 


306 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

“ What has happened? ” she ran to Joyce. 
“ Is Challenge all right? ” 

“ I guess so,” Joyce was kneeling above 
Ray; “it’s his fault.” 

“Whose fault?” Patricia looked down. 
“ Why, it’s Ray.” 

“ Yes,” said Joyce. “ He just brought 
your horse out—^the last one.” 

“ Oh,” cried Patricia. “ Did it kill him? ” 

“No, no,” intervened Mr. Hunter; “he’ll 
be all right. Swallowed some smoke! ” 

Joyce glared at Patricia, and then imme¬ 
diately she melted. Never had Patricia 
looked so pretty, standing there frightened, 
trying not to shed tears. 

“ You girls go on,” commanded Mr. Hun¬ 
ter. “ The fire is under control, more or less. 
Horses are out, anyway. We’re sending Ray 
home. You two can be his nurses. Run on, 
now.” 

Obediently they went. 

By the time Raoul was sufficiently recovered 
to know what had happened he was home, and 
the fire was out. 

Grandma Parsons, Irma, Patricia, Joyce, 


FIRE 


307 


Mrs. Hunter, vied with one another in pro¬ 
viding comforts for him. 

“ I feel like a regular fool,” Ray complained 
privately to Joyce. 

But you aren’t,”—^Joyce was able to laugh 
again now,—‘‘ you’re a regular hero.” 

“ Hero—^nothing! ” Ray was disgusted. 
But he was not quite so indignant when Pa¬ 
tricia, eyes brimming, said to him, “ Oh, 
Raoul, you were so brave. Why did you do 
it? Challenge wasn’t worth it, much as I 
love him.” 

“ He was your horse,” said Raoul. “ Is he 
all right? ” 

“ Fine; not hurt a bit.” 

Irma interrupted: ‘‘ ’Scuse, you two, but 
here’s some soup Grandma Parsons sent over.” 

“ Soup! ” groaned Ray. 

“ I made it,” said Patricia proudly. 

“ Then he’ll eat it,” remarked Irma, dryly. 

Patricia blushed. ‘‘ Irma, you’re unkind;” 
but she smiled, and Irma smiled back. 

When Bobbie and Timmie tiptoed in, to 
stand gravely looking at Raoul as though he 
were a being from another world, Ray, Irma, 


308 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


and Patricia all broke into uproarious laugh¬ 
ter. 

Bobbie was disgusted. 

“ You’re just Ray. You don’t look a bit 
different.” 

Who wants him different? I don’t ”— 
said loyal little Timmie. 

Though she spoke no word, deep in her 
heart Patricia agreed. 


CHAPTER XVI 


“until we meet again” 

“ Here’s a letter from your mother,” 
Grandma Parsons called to Patricia. 

Spring was over the land again, running 
everywhere in a green fire. Small bushes, 
tall trees, were touched by it. The air had a 
different feeling, mellow, but still a bracing 
touch in it. Patricia, a healthier glow on her 
cheeks, a happier look in her eyes, seemed the 
symbol of spring, as she ran laughing down 
the stairs. 

“ Where’s it from? ” she asked. 

“ Japan! I thought they were in India.” 

“ I thought so, too,” Patricia looked puz- 
sled; “ I hope nothing’s happened.” 

She tore the envelope open, a worried look 
in her eyes, which was reflected on Grandma’s 
face, even though she “ never worried.” 

“Listen, Grandma,” Patricia was eager, 
“ Mother says they are coming back. Their 
host has been taken ill, and is coming home 
pronto—not that Mother said ‘pronto.’ They 


309 


310 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

must be on the sea now. And oh, Grandma, 
listen! 

“ ‘ We’ve had such good reports of you— 
and that makes me so happy, dear—^that Fa¬ 
ther says you may come to California to meet 
us. Nobody knows how lonesome we’ve been 
for you, nor how happy we shall be to see you. 
We expect to be in San Francisco about May 
the twentieth.’ 

“ Grandma Parsons, you old dear, to write 
such nice things about me. And May twenti¬ 
eth! Why, I’ll have to leave next week. 
California! Oh, Grandma, aren’t you glad 
for me? And Mother! and Dad! It’s too 
good to be true. I must go tell Joyce! ” 

A hurried and altogether imexpected kiss 
landed on Grandma’s nose, and Patricia was 
off through the front door and across the 
yard to the Hunters’, displaying no more dig¬ 
nity in her manner than if she had been care¬ 
free Joyce. 

The Hunter family received the news in 
varying moods. Joyce was exuberant. “How 
wonderful for you, Patricia. Aren’t you the 
lucky girl! ” 

“ I wish you were going along, Joy.” 


“UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN” 


311 


“ Don’t I! ” said Joyce. 

Mrs. Hunter was pleased, too, but Irma 
pretended indifference, simply saying, ‘‘ Yes, 
indeed—^lovely! ” and left the room. 

Bobbie and Timmie came racing through 
in the midst of an exciting game of tag, in 
which Bingo was deeply involved. When 
they heard the news they both stopped short, 
in spite of the dog’s eager barking. 

“ Going to leave! Oh, no,” wailed Bobbie. 
‘‘ Who’ll help me find all the things I lose ? ” 

“ But you’re coming back, aren’t you? ” in¬ 
quired Timmie, gravely. 

“ Perhaps,” Patricia smiled at them, “ but 
not for a while.” 

“ But you’ll have to,” chorused the boys. 

Baoul was absolutely silent when he heard 
the news that evening. Joyce, seeing this, 
hastened to add: “ It’s a shame. We really 
had planned so many things for the summer— 
picnics, rides, lots of things! ” 

Ray’s face brightened. “ At least, we can 
have one picnic before Patricia goes, can’t 


312 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


“ Indeed we can. We’U have it this Satur¬ 
day. She leaves Monday or Tuesday.” 

So once again Joyce and Ray planned a 
picnic for Patricia, but how different this time 
from the last one. 

Joyce told Patricia of their plans on the way 
to school the next morning. 

“ Saturday, did you say? ” asked Patricia. 
“ How fine. I think it’s mighty sweet of you 
and Ray to do this for me. What shall I 
bring? ” 

\ 

“ Yourself,” replied Joyce, smiling. 

“ Of course, but I mean food.” 

“ Nothing. I’ll attend to that.” 

“ No, I really want to. I know. I’ll make 
some potato salad.” 

“ That does soimd good—I know from ex¬ 
perience.” 

After a pause Patricia said, rather slowly. 

Would you mind—I mean, let’s ask Irma, 
too.” 

Joyce looked surprised. 

‘‘ Do you really want her? ” 

“ Yes, I do.” 


‘‘UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN” 313 

So Irma was invited, and, to Joyce’s sur¬ 
prise, she accepted. 

Raoul and John Rogers had Saturday 
afternoon off, so the five started off together. 
The air was full of spring. Everywhere 
spring flowers were beginning to show—cow¬ 
slips, crocuses, here and there a shy violet. 
Fortunately it was one of those balmy days 
that come at that time of year. Patricia 
strode along. The two miles to Flat Rock 
seemed like nothing at all. 

Remember the blister I ‘ grew ’ the last 
time we took this walk? ” she laughed to Joyce. 

Joyce nodded happily—she was too full of 
the joy of spring to talk much. The boys 
chatted of a dozen things. Irma alone was 
very quiet. 

Camp was finally reached, and Joyce went 
off with the boys to look for firewood. Irma 
and Patricia busied themselves about the pro¬ 
visions, making the coffee, spreading the cloth, 
unwrapping the sandwiches. 

‘‘ Irma,” said Patricia finally, slowly, “ I’m 
leaving next week.” 



314 


PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 


‘‘ Yes, I know,” Irma answered noncha¬ 
lantly. 

“I’ve been pretty disgusted with some 
things this winter, but I guess I was as much 
at fault as any one. I’d like to go away feel¬ 
ing I had only friends in the Hunter family.” 

Irma looked up. Patricia saw tears in her 
eyes. 

“ Why, Irma,” she cried in surprise. 

“ I know I’ve been an awful fool,” said 
Irma, “ but Celia Laurence seemed to make 
me act that way.” 

“ Shall we forget it all, and be friends 
again? ” 

“ If you only will.” 

By the time Joyce and the boys came back 
Patricia and Irma were chatting gayly. 

While the coffee was getting ready to boil, 
Patricia wandered off to Flat Rock. Sud¬ 
denly she called, “ See what I’ve found.” 

Ray ran to where she stood. 

“ Isn’t this a darling flower. What is it? ” 

She held up a frail, pinkish, lavender blos¬ 
som, held in small green spikes. 

“ There are several here.” 


“UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN” 315 

“A primrose,” said Ray; “scarce around 
here.” 

“Aren’t they darling!” said Patricia. 

“ Most rare things are.” 

Patricia looked up quickly with a smile, but 
sobered instantly at the look in Ray’s eyes. 

“ I shall hate—leaving you—all.” 

“ We shall be lonesome for you, Patricia. 
Are you ever coming back? ” 

“ I hope so, some day. Next year, per¬ 
haps,—sometime, anyway.” 

“ Halloo,” called Joyce. “ Coffee’s boiled 
third time; everything is ready.” 

Once again the happy, care-free meal. 
Then, as evening chill crept into the air, the 
fire was built high, vying with the flaming sun¬ 
set in the west. Again happy young voices 
rose on the evening air, and again Patricia’s 

f 

voice rose alone: 

“ ‘ I’ll take you home again, Kathleen.’ ” 

“ When I sang that last fall,” she said as 
she ended, “ I was lonesome for New York, 
thought I’d never live until time to go back. 
Now whenever I sing it. I’ll see—^just this.” 


316 PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

She waved her hand about the camp-fire and 
the smiling group. With a long, deep look 
her eyes met Joyce’s, and there, somehow, in 
the flickering firelight, an unspoken pledge of 
unending friendship was exchanged between 
the two girls. 

Once again the basket was packed, and the 
young people started home through the rust¬ 
ling, whispering, spring woods. Ray and Pa¬ 
tricia carried the basket between them, swing¬ 
ing along silently in the early evening. 

When they left Patricia at the Parsons’ 
home, she flung out her arms: ‘‘ Oh, I am 

coming back some day I I couldn’t stay away 
from all of you.” 

Turning, she ran up the walk, singing as she 
went, sweet and clear and true: 

** ‘ Until we meet again.’ ” 

Ri> 7.4'^ 

3 


The End 


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